George Hale
by invisiblefriends
Summary: After IWTB, life goes on
1. Chapter 1

George Hale - Chapter 1

She didn't don't know exactly what made her take the long way home after work that day. It was a hunch. She had one of his hunches. In her pocket was a list of things she needed to pick up in town; groceries, a book for Mulder, screening for the back window – but this day, those things had to wait.

Maybe it was the crappy day she had, caught in another round of meetings where she was the only dissenter against the hospitals latest initiative. Maybe it was the conversation she overheard in the cafeteria about stale bread and orphans. Maybe it was the dream she had two nights ago where she drove her car into Mulder's office because it was the only way she could get into the house because she had left all of the doors locked. And she knew that something had to change.

Spring is trying to hurry up and arrive but it might as well still be February. There are no leaves on trees, no warm breeze. It is the after-white gloomy, gray season but Scully likes it. She didn't think she could enjoy this kind of non-descript weather but in the past year, she has learned to thrive in it; hide in it. Washington in the spring with all its flowers, deep green leaves, and clean sidewalks now seems like another world for other people. This one, the one where she has to kick stones out of the way, or look down at endless cracked sidewalks – this is now world she knows.

The place Scully is looking for is part of an old strip mall that has not fallen apart and died yet. She has to take one highway and four back roads to get there. She asks for directions twice and, an hour after leaving the hospital, finally arrives. She finds a parking spot in front of the hardware store. Parking here is bad because the potholes are still filled with water and mud.

She gets out of the car, being careful to watch for traffic and navigate a puddle of mud at the same time. The Beauty Salon next to the hardware store is having a going out of business sale; shampoo and conditioners. Three full shelves of the same brand, fifty percent off. Over-stocking has its casualties.

And then, she follows the hunch she didn't quite understand. She finds the place she is looking for and pushes her way through the heavy glass doors. Scully nods to the woman at the front desk and keeps going. She opens another set of doors and follows the noise. The woman at the desk calls something to her but she pretends not to notice.

The longer Scully looks around the endless rows in the overfilled room - the more people she speaks to about her plan, and the more documents she signs, the more she becomes convinced that she is doing the right thing for Mulder, for herself.

And for George Hale.


	2. Chapter 2

"Mulder," she calls, careful not to let the screen door slam behind them.

"Hey, Scully," His tired voice floats out from the office with forced lightness. She knows that tone. He has had a crappy day and her surprise won't help.

Scully gently opens the door to his office. "Turn around. I have someone for you to meet."

Words Mulder hates. Someone to meet. _Someone new to make you doubt who you are again_.

He finishes a sentence – the best he can come up with in an hour – by typing _shitshitshit_ He jams in an exclamation point after the last _shit_ and hits _Alt Tab_.

Then, he slowly turns around.

Scully is standing in the doorway smiling – beaming almost - with a leash in her hand. Attached to the leash is a thin, timid, tan pit-bull. He has a wide ring of white fur around his muzzle. A patch of white marks his chest. His eyes are chestnut brown. There are old scars on his head. And he is shaking.

"This is George Hale," Scully says proudly.

Mulder looks back and forth between Scully and the dog. "I thought you didn't believe in re-incarnation, Scully."

She throws him a look of appreciation and steps into the room. The dog stays at the other end of the leash, safe where he is. "I adopted him from the pound."

Mulder still isn't getting this. He and the dog are trying not to look the other in the eye. So far they both doing well.

"And you called him George Hale."

"They had named him George. I added the Hale. He reminded me of your George Hale."

"Um…. Scully …" Mulder chews his lower lip thoughtfully. "When did you decide to get a dog?"

The least spontaneous person he knows is still smiling. "Today."

She crouches in front of the dog. This time, he doesn't flinch. When she brought him from the shelter to the car, he stayed as far away from her as he could. When she bent over to secure his leash, he jumped as if he expected to be hit. Her heart jumped as high and she knew, for the millionth time, that she was doing the right thing.

"Today. Just like that?"

"Well, I was passing the shelter at Walkers Mall and…"

"Walkers Mall is twenty miles west of here. You work east."

Gently, she moves her hand along George Hale's thin back. "It doesn't matter. He's ours now."

Mulder's sense of reality is slowly shaking. This is the kind of thing he would do; this is the kind of thing she would have thought about for longer than a twenty mile drive; this is the sort of decision she would have argued with him for at least a week, and still would have been unsure of, even if she had said, yes, go ahead.

"Come and say hello, Mulder. He won't bite."

"Why the hell would you get a pit-bull? Do you really want to get mauled when you look at him cross-eyed? That's what they do, Scully. They are trained to fight."

"It is not what they do. Stop being difficult. Just speak to him in a quiet, kind voice. They said he was a little wary of men, but that he can get used to them."

Mulder rolls his eyes. Crouching, he takes three steps towards the dog. "Hey, doggie," he says in a polite whisper.

George Hale moves two steps back.

His duty done, Mulder returns his attention to Scully. "Again, _why _did you get a dog?"

"He was slated to be euthanized tomorrow if nobody claimed him. There is no real mystery to this, Mulder; he needs a home, and we need a dog."

"We do? News to me, Scully."

"As a matter of fact, we've needed something like this for a while."

"Oh. _We_ or _me_?"

"Us. You and I."

Mulder turns away from the two strangers in front of him and wanders into the living room. He tosses part of a newspaper out of the way and drops onto the couch. "Me."

"Us," she corrects. "Come on, George Hale," she tells the dog kindly and pats the side of her leg. She hadn't used this gesture since _Queequeg_. It comes back without a thought. "Mulder, not everything I do is about _you."_

"Sure it is." Mulder drops his feet onto the coffee table and rests his hands behind his head. "It's all about me: your Shut-In partner. Boyfriend. The recluse. The one all the neighbourhood kids point at and say, 'T_here goes the crazy man_."

Considering there isn't a child within a ten-mile radius, Scully will not fall into his trap. "I'm going to take him for a walk."

"I'm happy this way."

She waves her hand towards him "Happy as in sitting there?"

"Happy as in 'I'm fine and I don't need you to get me a dog."

"Good, because he's not just for you. I live here too." Scully watches Mulder settle back into the cushions and fold his arms. She doesn't let the seed of doubt at the back of her mind gain any ground. She has done the right thing. "We're going out."

_We_. They are a '_we'_ now. He has been replaced by a dog named George Hale.

Scully and George Hale walk past him without another word. She closes the front door and lets it slam, forgetting that she has a timid dog with her.

"Sorry, Sweetheart," Mulder hears her say from the front porch. It is the same voice Scully uses when something is wrong and she can only empathize with her heart.

It is the same voice she used with William.

"Dammit," he groans and hoists himself to his feet.

Scully can hear his footsteps behind her – they are hesitant, hurried steps. Then, she can hear Mulder sigh that sigh she knows too well as he catches up to her. "Do you really think a dog is a good idea right now?"

Another wall is going to go up and another argument is going to emerge from the silence. Well, not tonight, she has decided. This is George Hale's first night with them, and this dog is not going to be exposed to any of Mulder's negative energy. Or to her own.

"You have a lot on your plate at work – why would you want to come home to ….this?"

Trust Mulder to – accidently, she knows - reduce what the hospital bureaucracy did to Christian, and what they want to do to the children who follow, to '_a lot on your plate_.'

"Besides, what do either of us know about having a dog?"

Her head turns sharply. "_Queequeg_was a dog."

"Cannibal dog," he mumbles under his breath. "Is that why you got this dog, Scully? To get back at me because my alligator ate your dog?"

She stops walking and looks up at him. "Why would you bring that up now?"

It's a tricky question. The subject of Queequeg hasn't entered a conversation in years; Scully never spoke much about 'the alligator incident' and - had Mulder given this any thought - he would have brushed the observation off.

"I don't know. Because we were talking about dogs - and you _brought up the name, _Queequeg?"

She mumbles something into her scarf.

"Excuse me?"

"That was a_ long_ time ago."

He would still like to know why 'a long time' ago subjects became off limits but he will honour the rule by dropping the subject. She once made this clear those were days and hours and seconds she doesn`t want to relive. These days though, the past and all its inherent horrors are beginning to haunt him since he signed that damn book contract. Maybe Scully has the right idea. Maybe very selective amnesia is the way to go.

He nods towards the road. "You forgot to close the gate."

Scully tries to ignore this observation, and the impulse to tell him what he can do with his gate. As they walk in near silence, Scully makes the occasional 'good boy' noises when George Hale stops to pee or looks up at her. They were clear about this point at the shelter; when a dog looks at you while you walk, it means he knows you are the alpha.

Alpha Scully, she thinks. _Special Alpha in Charge Agent Scully_.

"What's so funny? Mulder asks at the strange smile on her face.

"Nothing. Come on, help me unload his things from the car."

He reaches in and hauls out a huge square dog bed. "He gets his own furniture?" he whines and dumps it into Scully's waiting arms.

"Keep it up, Mulder, and you can have a bed of your own too."

Mulder pretends to smile as he dives into the backseat and pulls out a massive bag of dog food. It is awkward and heavy. He didn't bring his coat and it is still damp cold outside. Another reason for staying put inside the house for the rest of his life.

"I thought it was supposed to be warmer these days," he whines, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

"Mulder," Scully says plainly. "Life was supposed to be _a lot_ of things."


	3. Chapter 3

_"When bringing a new pet into the family, you must introduce him to all the smells, sights, sounds and people he will encounter. For the shy dog, a good size crate might help him feel more secure."_ - You and Your Rescue Dog

"Mulder…."Scully calls from the living room.

"What," he yells back.

"Do we still have that cage the people before us left in the shed?"

"No."

Mulder is in his office, torturing himself in front of the computer. He needs a case that sounds plausible, a chapter that won't have an editor shaking his head, thinking, Are you f'ing kidding me? He glances down at the list of options he wrote on a napkin and thinks there may be a chance with number twelve; it's what he would have called a Classic X-Files. Paranormal, unexplainable apparitions; 3 dead bodies before the case even landed on Mulder's desk.

Scully returns to her book, 'You and Your Rescue Dog'. She can ignore the chapter about How to Meet New People because it's a non-issue. _New People_ hasn't exactly been a constant in their lives. She reminds herself that she needs to return to civilization or she will never see _New People_ again. She dreads the thought of being the only people in this animal's life. The only other _New People_ that could possibly enter the chapter is her mother and she is, according to Skinner, settled on a cruise ship for the next foreseeable future. Scully thinks of this with guilt of unknown proportions, even to herself. With the exception of an overnight visit in San Diego a year ago, Scully and her mother have not been in touch. Her mother has made overtures but Scully has found reason after reason not to accept. Guilt continues to head the list of those reasons.

She picks another chapter at random and stumbles upon, _Your Child and Your Rescue Dog _and moves along again. This is another non-issue that stings. Then, she finds the chapter she needs the most: _Where Your Rescue Dog Sleeps During its First Weeks in his New Home_.

In his office, Mulder leans forward and buries his head deep into his waiting hands. At the mercy of his elbows, he stares eye to eye with the only sentence he could think of to start this bloody book that he never should have agreed to in the first place. Her voice drifts into the office again and he immediately sits up straight. All he needs is to have her find him slumped over his laptop like a depressed man who spends way too much time in this tiny room, wondering how it all came to this.

"I'll pick one up after work tomorrow," Scully says.

Mulder sighs and stands up, sending the chair rolling behind him. With an Alt-Tab, he wanders back to the living room.

"Why?"

"So he'll have a safe place."

"Look around, Scully. We're in the middle of nowhere. You can't get much safer than that."

"The book says that a frightened dog can feel secure in a crate. Your idea of safe is not his idea. You haven't lived god knows what kind of nomadic life without a place to call -" She stops dead at the gift of irony she has just given him.

Mulder folds his arms "Thank you," he says, only half smugly.

"Well, that's something you both have in common, then. And now you've got what he wants – a place to call home."

"God, Scully, what's gotten into you. You sound like an Afterschool Special." He means this to be sarcastic, but by the time it comes out of his mouth, it is hostile.

"Mulder…"

"I need to finish the article I'm working on before I go to bed."

"The solar system one?"

"Yes," he lies. "Can we talk about this later?"

The faux calm is over. She slams down her book. "What '_this_' will we talk about later?"

"You doing something like getting a dog without discussing it with the other person who shares this house with you."

"And if I'd brought it up?"

He raises his hands. "I probably would have agreed with you. That's not the point. I don't like anyone telling me what I need and what I don't, and if I'm fine or not fine."

"Someone has to, Mulder, because if I don't - I can't stand to watch you live out of that damn room again.…."

"It's an office. It's where people work."

"In your case – hide."

He raises his arms into the air. "Fine. I give up. What am I hiding from, Scully? What horrible, invisible monster am I hiding from?"

"Me, for one. Your life now, for another."

"Which is what?"

"That … all that you woke up for, worked for, strove to find, that it's been replaced by …. this. This house this lifestyle, this …"

"Nothingness?" He is on a dangerous roll. "Is that how you see my life now, Scully? Nothing?"

"Stop putting words into my mouth."

"Not so easy to take, is it? I don't like your assuming what's best for me without asking me."

"I have been asking you. You don't talk to me. I go to work; you go to your office. I come home, we have dinner, you ask me about my day, my work, what new doctor is seeing what new nurse. The moment I try and get to talk about you, you're back in your office, or you've changed the subject." Scully has to catch her breath. She hasn't realized how overdue this discussion is. "I'm tired of this, Mulder. This isn't how we are supposed to be anymore. We're not in DC, in separate apartments, or on the run sharing one car, driving through state after state anymore. Right now, this is for real and if something doesn't change…." She stops cold and can't believe the beginning of an ultimatum has just dribbled out of her mouth.

"What? If something doesn't change - what? You'll leave again? This time for good?"

Scully can only stare at him long and hard. That's a low blow, even for Mulder. "Don't exaggerate what that was about." But inside she is thinking, 'Don't tempt me."

"I've told you I'm fine," he says slowly, "but you won't let it go. If I am or if I am not, I will deal with it."

"Oh, like you did last time? You scared me, Mulder, you scared both of us. I'm not doing that again. "

Last time. Those barely mentioned, never acknowledged days when Mulder lost his footing and began to slip so quickly and deeply through the ground. She wanted him to see someone; he swore her to silence. She prescribed medication for him; he refused to take it. She tried to be the support system until she realized she couldn't be partner, confidant and doctor all at the same time because she was going to fail miserably; they both would. He wouldn't let her tell anyone, even Skinner and she had to lie when he asked about Mulder. Skinner suspected something was wrong but he wasn't told until after by Scully who needed to talk about this so badly.

"You don't think I know what you're doing but I do know, Mulder. You keep up a good front, you keep the house tidy and clean, you keep everything in order and you leave nothing to chance that might draw attention to yourself. Do you know what I do every day when I come home? I get out of my car, go over to your truck and put my hand on the hood, hoping to feel heat; see a tire track - anything to tell me that you've been off this property."

'_The year on the run – so full of heightened paranoia; travelling in car after car was manageable because it was necessary. Now, just the act of standing still is calling up every anxiety I managed to bury alive in order to survive. I disappear into my office to get away from what I fear can devour me without my ever knowing.'_

But this doesn't come out of his mouth. He has closed off that filter very carefully. He peers over at the kitchen. The dog is huddled between the stove and the fridge, finding some kind of comfort on the crappy wooden floor. Well, if he felt safe, then so be it. Personally, Mulder felt safest under the bed, curled up in the fetal position, so who was he to judge.

Mulder grabs his coat. "This dog isn't the answer, Scully. He doesn't want to be here anymore than I want him here."

He stops at the door but he doesn't turn around. With a finger absently picking at the paint on the hinge, he says, "You think I like being like this? Writing crap for those magazines, crap that people will buy and that I don't have the slightest bit of pride in. I wish there was something for me to believe in Scully, but there's nothing."

He has said too much and he is ashamed. Mulder leaves this house before she can respond to the first honest thing he has said to her in a very long time.

* * *

An hour later, he has resumed his crouch in front of his computer and tries not to listen as Scully gives George Hale a tour of the house. He can hear the sound of uncut nails follow at a safe distance as she leads him into each room. Mulder feels like a shit for picking the fight but sometimes, when he is cornered, he does things like this.

_"The emotional reaction to darkness has metaphorical importance in many cultures; at the conclusion of this case, it was agreed on by Agent Scully and myself that the variables around the…"_

He stops typing and listens as Scully keeps up an easy patter of words, in an easy voice, talking, to George Hale as if he is a very nervous foreign exchange student. There is simple kindness in her tone and Mulder remembers this is one of the things he loves best about her. She knows how to deal with frightened, nomadic beings. Some are dogs, others can be major assholes when they wanted to; it makes no difference to her – she doesn't give up on any of them.

_"The outcome of the case would depend on the variables that surrounded the murders. If they were extraterrestrial, where was the evidence; who needed to be convinced and if they could.…"_

More crap. Mulder stares at the keyboard for a second and wants to scream. He wants to pound the letters with his fist, over and over again, maybe damaging some beyond repair. But instead, he begins to pound away with his fingers.

_"After Agent Scully and I subdued the alien mutants with our bare hands, we took control of the spaceship and the internet. We hijacked the FBI database and sent a memo announcing the new appointment of Fox William Mulder as director of the FBI, and those employees with concerns will be reassigned to the newly created Shredded Documents Reconstruction department, focusing on the reattachment of Human Resources Efficiency reports. Those affected will soon rue the day they took aim at Spooky Mulder.… shitshitshit - I told her I don't believe in anything anymore. I wish I could believe in something, but I don't; not in the possibility of an honest government or joining fights that need to be fought because evil and corruption go on; I can't tell her that I am not strong enough to take them on anymore. I am tired of being responsible for saving the world. Now, everybody is healthy and safe and now I am free. No more sisters to save, only to remember. No more strangers stupid enough to depend on me to rescue them." F.W.M V1-2_

This unexpected outburst of thoughts takes him by surprise. He feels better. Not by much, but it will do.

Mulder turns off the computer, tosses his glasses aside and roams back into the living room. Scully is at the table, still pouring through the dog book.

"I'm going to bed," he announces in what he hopes is an apologetic voice.

"Fine." Scully doesn't look up from the page she is reading about canine fecal matter. She won't give him satisfaction of thinking he is more interesting than dog shit. "I'm sleeping out here."

It is hard to tell if she is doing this out of payback or concern for the dog. Concern mostly, Mulder decides. Payback is just icing on the cake.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

They all survive George Hale's first night in his new home.

George Hale paces the circumference of the house for most of the night and finally settles behind the fridge. He sleeps for an hour.

Scully camps out on the couch and reads while she tries to keep an eye on George Hale and her mind off Mulder and wondering how to make his and George Hale's lives … not terrible. She sleeps for two hours, maximum.

Mulder reads until three before going to sleep. The dream returns but tonight it was different. Scully was in the kitchen, only it was her kitchen in her Georgetown apartment. She was holding a book and saying, 'No, I think I'm right, Mulder. He's got potential he just needs a bit of work.'

Mulder had blurted out, 'Kind of like I did?' and knocked back a bottle of beer.

She didn't answer; she kept flipping through the pages, looking for new ways to train the dog, telling him how dogs were like children and we couldn't let any more of them slip away. He could hear the garbage truck in the background, making the usual sounds when it is picking up garbage and hauling it away.

_The way theirs did. Children who have slipped out of their arms. People who all but tumbled out of his care; partners who he had known for only a year leaving voice mails calling for help when they were being attacked. _

In the dream, Mulder had kept trying to tell Scully that the dog would end up doing his business all over the house and who was going to clean it up. She wasn't bothered by any of this and this made him tenser. He couldn't convince her that if that if they kept this dog, it would disappear one day when Mulder was supposed to be in charge. He kept trying to tell her that the real reason she got a dog was to replace William but she only smiled patiently and kept going through reasons why a dog was such a good idea.

And Mulder wakes up in a sad fury. It is the middle of the night, pitch black outside; the other side of the bed is empty. He loses another one. Even in a dream, even with a dog he doesn't care about, he knows they couldn't go through that again.

At seven thirty the next morning, Scully rinses her coffee mug in the sink and drops it onto the overfilled strainer. She can see George Hale trying to gage her next move from his place behind the living room curtain. She has forgotten what it is like to be followed by a dog's very watchful eye. Queequeg kept her under guard for the first night of their new living arrangement. This _was_ Queequeg, however, and he had lived comfortable confident existence without any threats to his wellbeing. God only knew what this dog, with the fighting scars that suggested he wasn't very good, has for a past.

She probably shouldn't have snapped at Mulder when he referred to poor Queequeg's end. It was a long time ago, and there are a lot of memories more off-limits than that.

He is still asleep – his light, still on,. He probably read himself to sleep again when he knew it wasn't going to come naturally. Now, he is on his stomach, his head deep under one of his pillows, an elbow sticking out from the sheets.

Scully gently shakes her partner's shoulder. "Mulder – I'm leaving."

He slowly unburies his head from under the pillow. "Mmmmm?"

"Sit up for a moment, I want to talk to you." Scully nudges his legs out of the way and sits down." How did you sleep?"

"All I heard all night was click-click-click." Slowly, he emerges from beneath the blankets. His hand makes its way through his hair, which is now in many different directions. He tosses a pillow behind his shoulders and tries to look awake. "You heading out?"

"In a few minutes."

"Hold on, I'll make you breakfast." Eyes barely open, he flings back the top sheet.

"I've had mine." Scully pushes him back down. He seems back to normal this morning. Most likely, he hasn't remembered their argument yet.

She traces her finger along his arm. "Your tan's fading."

"Mmm. Wish we were back on that beach." Mulder slowly pushes himself up on his elbow. "Where's -" He pauses to clear his cracking throat. "What's-his-name?"

"In the living room. I've fed him and taken him out for a short walk so he should be fine for a while."

He nods, still trying to wake up. It feels like only seconds ago he woke from the dream. "Did he have any accidents?"

"No – he was fine – Listen, I know I sprung this on you – I didn't mean to - but we can give him a home, a place in this world. I think he's a good dog, Mulder. He just needs a chance."

"Like me," he quotes from the script of his dream. He tries to sound confident. These days, it is getting harder and harder.

"And I know you think you're stuck – but you'll find your way. You will."

"How do you know that?"

She looks at him as if he's dense. "Because I know _you_."

There is a familiar sound of timid nails on a wooden floor. Scully leans to the left and sees George Hale looking at them from the safety of the front door.

"If he's our first dog," she wonders. "I wonder if we're his first humans."

"God help him," Mulder chokes sympathetically. "Go to work, Scully. He'll be fine"

She stands up and heads towards the door. "Keep his water dish filled."

"I will." Mulder gets out of bed and sleepily follows her.

"And when you take him for a walk, keep him on the leash at all times. The shelter said he is a runner."

"I will," he repeats, digging his knuckle into his tired eyes

"Apparently, he's very nervous around other dogs, so if you should see one…."

"I know, I know."

"And Mulder, if you see a cat … well, the shelter says he's afraid of cats."

"He's a pitbull. They are not afraid of cats."

"This one is.'

Mulder shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

"You used to investigate the paranormal and you were afraid of _insects_."

"That was a long time ago and…. Scully, why is he looking at me like that?"

George Hale is sitting in the corner of the front entrance, his ears are up. His eyes don't leave Mulder's midriff.

Scully shrugs. "He's probably never seen a naked man before. You might want to put some pants on so you don't frighten him. Besides …." She picks up her coat and briefcase from the table and gives him an appreciative leer. "I want everything to be here when I get back."

Scully crouches in front of George Hale and scratches his chest. "You be a good dog. Mulder will take care of you. I'll be back later with some toys so you'll have a -"

"Scully," Mulder interrupts. "He's a dog."

She can read the pretend irritation in his voice and she is amazed at moments like this when domesticity is so simple, so organic. Anyone watching would think this is a normal couple who have boring, sweet moments that make up a life.

"See you, Mulder."

Mulder closes the door after her and turns to the dog. George Hale is still staring at him.

"Cats?" Mulder asks him in male-to-male disgust. "Really?" He turns to give the dog a look. The dog has slinked away to the kitchen where he will remain for the rest of the morning.

* * *

She doesn't know when she morphed into a Mulder'esque Shit-Disturber but somehow it has happened. During another morning-update in the boardroom, Scully slips into the chair next to Dr. Bull and tries to catch the last part of a remark about changing standards .

"Excuse me, she interrupts, "Standards for what?"

She could easily lean to the left and ask Dr. Bull but something tells her to go public with the question.

Father Thomas sighs and shuffles some papers to show his irritation. It's not that she has arrived late that bothers him, it Scully's ability as a subtle shit-disturber that gets under his skin. He is like a first grade teacher, wielding power he shouldn't. Scully is the only one in the room who stands up to him.

"Futility policy," he sighs.

"I have asked a few of my colleagues at another hospital what their opinions are. They have tried to establish their own policies for Futility Cases and-"

"Other hospitals are not this one."

"I didn't mean to imply they were."

"Then tell me specifically –" He waves his arm around the room. "Tell _us _specifically what your moral objections are."

Scully takes a deep breath. Her voice is even. She reminds herself of someone at this second but she can't think of whom. "I just feel that it is ironic that the 'right to die' movement was founded on the premise that patients are the best judges of when it is time to die. Now, it seems as though this hospital, with all its honourable intentions, is telling us that only doctors are the best judges of when we should die."

"Thank you, Doctor Scully. That will be-"

"Over time, the ethical question 'What is Right?' has become 'Who Decides?' "

Father Thomas draws his fingers tightly into fists. "Doctor Scully—"

"Which now has devolved into 'What is Legally Allowed'."

Everyone is looking at her. Some people want her to continue. Others want this discussion stopped. A few want her removed from this room. But nobody says a word

Mulder. That's who she reminds herself of - Mulder when he used to get this way in the bureau. Self-righteous. Right. He doesn't doubt himself for a moment. Neither does Scully. She can't if she doesn't want other children like Christian to fall through the gaping, invisible holes of hospital bureaucracy.

"That's all I have to say," she concludes quietly and remembers the old days when dealing with dead people was a hell of a lot easier than the live ones.

* * *

_When first introducing your dog to such common items as camera, use caution. Some dogs fear objects such as cameras. Whether it is a flash, the sound of the click or the object that looks as if it could be thrown at them – use caution. With patience and time, your dog might trust that your camera is not going to hurt him. He may never trust this object or he might. This is something you will only know with time. (You & Your Rescue Dog)_

"Are you in one piece?"

Scully looks up from her desk. Curt Fraser, the only co-worker here she considers a friend, is standing in the doorway of her office, his arms folded, and a strange look of commiseration on his face.

"Barely. You heard about the meeting?"

"Oh, I'd say so. Quite a few of us on this side of the county heard about the meeting. Sorry I wasn't there for it. I enjoy a good floor show."

"I could have used the back up."

"No, actually, from what I hear, you did pretty well on your – hey, what the hell is _that_?" He is staring at a frame on Scully's desk.

"They call it a photograph, Curt. You must have seen one before – images created by light falling on light-sensitive surfaces that reflect images based on objects."

"Haha." He strolls into her office, the first office she has called her own in twenty years. It was one of the hospitals best perks. "You have an actual personal item in your office. This picture came with the frame, didn't it, Dana?" Curt's office is shamelessly littered with photographs of his wife and children.

She takes it out of his hands and carefully places it back onto the desk. "That's our dog."

"_You _have a dog?"

"We got him a month ago."

Scully is quietly pleased by this photograph of George Hale. There is another frame on her desk, this one carefully blocked by a box of Kleenex, of her and Mulder from their bureau days. it is her secret smile during the chaos of her days here. They are standing side by side outside the FBI. Her arms are folded, she is supposed to be in serious mode but really, she is trying not to smile at a crack Mulder just made about a jackass from accounting. Mulder has a slight smirk on his face because he knows he got her.

A photographer was hired for a day to take pictures of various bureau employees for a recruiting brochure; he didn't know he had just photographed the two employees least wanted for publicity. By the time an e-copy of the photo had made its way through the email-tunnels of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, some wise ass had added a pair of moose antlers on Mulder's head, and a pair of aviation goggles around Scully's. The reference wasn't lost on either of them, nor the accuracy.

"Tall, dark and horny," Mulder had remarked thoughtfully when he saw it. He pointed to Scully. "You - short, quick; always ready for action."

"Great," Scully had groaned. "I'm Squirrel to your Moose."

"Or, I'm Moose to your Squirrel. They see us for who we are, Scully. Two non-conformists who bear no resemblance to the rest of their world. We live and excel in our own world ofMoose and Squirrel. I can live with that**."**

And so they did. And without ever having to say so, they lived in the world of Mouse and Squirrel and by the codes the world kept recreating. _The Rules According to Moose and Squirrel;_sacred laws that neither of them ever came out and declared but which fell into when they started to work together, mostly to protect this strange, close relationship that seemed to work despite itself. Even Mulder, the eternal rule breaker, rarely broke _these_ rules. There had always been way too much to lose by being careless.

"We've been thinking about getting a dog," Curt is saying. "The kids want one. I'm not sure I could handle the hassle. I've been telling them 'yeah, we'll get one someday' for years. Any luck, I can keep saying it. We'd have look for breeds, then breeders, all of that. Go through the right channels so we know what we're getting into."

"I didn't have a clue what we were getting into. Maybe it's good I didn't do any research. No, that's reason dogs like him end up in shelters; because owners didn't know what they were in for."

Curt sniffs in approval. "Good looking dog. What'd you say his name was?"

"George Hale."

"The solar astronomer?"

"No, that's George _E_. Hale. This is George _S_. Hale."

"And 'S' is for…."

Neither grown-up in the room should believe that the next words are coming from an adult. She can't meet his eye. "Spooky."

"Christ, you two are weird," Curt puts down the photo. "You training the dog yourselves?"

"Trying. I do exercises with him in the evenings. He's got a few commands but the real trick is trying to get him to trust us. He is still too afraid of Mulder but he's coming around with me more."

"You ought to have a kid. Much easier than a dog."

Curt doesn't know about William – nobody does - so he doesn't know he has triggered the automatic response of her trying not to blink out of sequence. These reactions have been getting stronger lately; the panic that she will be asked about possible kids; that she will have to explain why she is suddenly uncomfortable, ashamed, and all the other emotions this subject dredges up. Look normal, she tells herself now.

Curt doesn't have anything to do for a few minutes so he sits on the corner of Scully's desk and picks up a stray pencil. He glances around the office and his eyes stop on a thread on his shirt. **"**So, what does your boyfriend say about the job offer?"

A hint of guilt dances over Scully's face "He doesn't know yet**,"** she admits. "About either of them."

"Ooooo. Secrets." Curt picks up a paperweight from the desk and twirls it in his hand. "Hear the news about Stillens?"

"No. What is the news about Stillins?"

"He's taking over the research department in Boston."

Scully pretends to care less. "Good for him."

"Wasn't that one of the jobs you were being head hunted for?"

"Apparently that issue has just been solved."

He gives the paperweight a short toss. "So why didn't you go for an interview?"

"The timing isn't right for relocating."

Curt is staring her down, rolling the frame on his hand. "So you've said."

She sighs and sits back in the chair and waits for that which she does not want hear to because she knows it will be true. She knows he is referring to the Washington General offer - it's the position she would really like to have but in the city she wants to go near the least; so it is now and forever off the table. "I really don't want to discuss it now, Curt. I've just pissed off a room full of medical doctors who claim to have access to a higher authority than God."

"Would your boyfriend have wanted you to take the job?"

Scully has to hold her tongue. _No, My Mulder would not want me to take the job because he is not able to relocate, in fact he is not able to leave the property and by the way, I am not supposed to share this with anyone, and by the way if I don't get out of here soon I may leave him anyway. _

She knows this is mostly not the truth. Mulder is a lot of things these days, difficult being at the top of her list, but she knows that what he wants above most, above his own needs even, is for her to be happy. And if he finds out what she hasn't told him he will be as miffed as Curt and just as hurt.

"It is not a good time to relocate," is all she tells him.

"You deserve better than this place, Dana. Do you not see that?"

Her heart stops a beat in shock. He sounds just like Bill, without the anger.

"No. Right now, I deserve what I have and that is a steady job in a good hospital and a roof over my head. Are we done here, Curt?"

_"_No. Are you happy?"

The question jars her out of her thoughts. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Are you happy here?"

Oh, such a loaded question. She isn't sure whether to laugh or just change the subject as she watches shadows of Mulder and Bill snickering behind Curt's back. "We're done with this conversation, Curt."

"Fine. We are done. Besides, your boyfriend's sabbatical is going to end and if he doesn't get a teaching job, then at least one of you will have a good income so you don't have to live in a tent that you knit by yourself in some distant suburb of..."

_Mulder's sabbatical. _He and Scully had to work to form this cover story. When Scully first joined the hospital, he didn't think he needed to exist in her story.

"_You exist, Fox." _She had told him flatly_. "I simply state that you are taking a year from your university teaching position to write." _

"Don't you have some place to be?"

"Not until I'm done giving you career counseling. Okay, I'm done. Let's talk about your Mulder. He's never been for a visit. I'm beginning to think he might not exist. A few of us are, as a matter of fact." It is true. Among a small hospital staff with little or no lives of their own, there are still bets running about whether or not this mystery partner with the strange name of _Mulder _even exists.

"Maybe he has been here when you weren't."

"No, I'd know. I sense these things."

Curt likes to bring up the subject of the invisible Mulder because there is something about this person - who may or may not exist - which interests him. He hasn't bought this writing scenario since the day he first heard it. He will get it out of her one day. Until then, he will continue to jump to his own conclusions and have fun with those.

He glances at the clock and hops off the desk. "Shit. Duty calls."

And he is gone. Curt is not known for his lingering conversation. He bounces from one topic to the next, depending on what interests him at that moment. The perfect guest, Scully has often thought. With the exception of a few invasive questions – _what does your partner do for a living_, being the worst of them – he is good company. And as much as he likes to know things, he also knows when to let them go.

He would make a good friend for Mulder; another guy to talk to about the weather or sports or whatever it is men talk about these days. Skinner is the closest male to Mulder but there is still that line between boss and friend. Curt can be a pain in the ass but he is smart and quick and would be an intellectual match for someone like Mulder. Instead, Mulder talks to the endless line of UPS men about the weather.

The remainder of her day is meetings and rounds. There is only one voice mail phone message. It is from Mulder and he is panicked.

The dog has run away.


	5. Chapter 5

George Hale Chapter 5

From the couch, Mulder can see her bolt out of the car and fly up the steps. Her feet only touch two of them. He wishes to God he could be darting around on his own two feet instead of lying here. He wants to make an effort to look as frantic as she does. In fact, he has already skidded past _Frantic _and has landed at J_ust Sick_.

She plows through the doorway. "Did he come back?" She stops mid panic when she sees him. "What the hell happened to you?"

Mulder's bare ankle is bruised blue from the toes to the ankle.

"Doesn't matter, just go look for him"

Scully turns and flies outside again. Mulder closes his eyes and listens to her calling for George Hale out there, in the dark. The further she strays from the house, the further away her voice becomes. He won't think of how cold it is, or that George Hale didn't have his collar on when he bolted. Or that another helpless creature, this one with four legs, has slipped from his responsibility into God knows what abyss.

Ten minutes later, the front door bursts open again. Scully returns with George Hale following close behind.

Mulder won't react the way most of him wants to; he beg for forgiveness, to apologize to Scully and George Hale for putting them through this. Instead, he tries to sit up against the cushion and sound fine. "Where was he?"

"In the shed."

Scully watches the dog dart out of the room and into his safe place between the stove and the fridge.

"Move," she says gently and waits for Mulder to shift his good leg a few inches over. She sits down and tries not to sound shaken. "He's okay, Mulder. He didn't run far. Just to where it was safe. That says a lot."

Mulder lies with one arm behind his head, the other is covering his eyes. He doesn't want her pity right now; he should be offering his solace.

"What happened?" she asks.

"I fell."

"No kidding." She leans over and carefully touches the swollen and blue ankle. "Mulder, don't be a baby." Dr. Scully holds his leg down at the knee and peers at the foot carefully. "It doesn't look broken," she decides. "I don't suppose you'd let me take you into town for an x-ray." She reads the look on his face correctly. "Fine. Wiggle your toes."

He wiggles his toes.

"That's good. I'm going to get a tenser bandage and you need to keep it on for at least a day. Are you getting that Mulder? If it gets any worse, we're getting it x-rayed."

She doesn't like the idea of climbing back into that car and making the long drive back to the hospital, so please ankle, please get better**. **She goes into their bedroom to look for the first aid kit she bought in a small town in some state. Names of places don't register with her as much as they used to. Another casualty of being on the run, on highways with the same names, none of which ever seemed to end.

"How did you fall?" Scully asks, gently tying the bandage around his foot.

"I tripped over him going down the front stairs. He got spooked and ran - Ow!" He yanks his foot away in pain.

Scully pats his good leg sympathetically and goes in search of an ice pack in the kitchen. She has found the one she wants when she hears a strange noise from the living room.

It is a low, distinct growl and it isn't coming from Mulder.

"Scully," she hears him say in a steady, careful voice.

He is still on the couch. George Hale, a good ten feet away, has just seen him and stopped in his tracks. His body is low and tense.

"What the hell's he doing?"

"He's fine, Mulder. Just … stay where you are."

With absolute fear banging away inside, Scully keeps her calm and slowly stands between Mulder and the dog. She moves her hand towards the dog. "It's okay, Sweetie."

"Out of the way, Scully," Mulder orders sharply. The dog twitches at the sound of his voice

Scully glances quickly over her shoulder. "He's just scared." At the same time, she maneuvers herself closer between the dog and Mulder. She holds her hand out again.

George Hale makes the final decision between growling again and giving in and he takes a step towards Scully and bangs the side of his head against her knuckles.

"Good dog," she tells him.

Mulder breathes again.

The dog finds his eyes. There is not a great deal of trust in this room right now.

"I don't want you alone with him," Mulder says.

"He's not dangerous," Scully quietly tells him. "He reacted out of fear when he heard your voice. Besides, a growl isn't an attack, it's a warning. The books says that growling is a dogs way of warning you that they are not comfortable with something."

She hears Mulder grumble, '_Christ_' out of frustration.

"What?

"Nothing."

"That wasn't a _nothing_ sigh."

"Fine, it was a…" He is about to do it. He almost asks the question. _What Is the Real Reason_ is all but bumbling out of his mouth but he chickens out. "It was a _why the hell are we doing this_ sigh. What just happened here could have been a lot worse and I don't want our safety compromised for a …." He can barely spit the word out. "_Dog_."

"You can speak for yourself. I'm perfectly safe with him, Mulder. Statistically, as a woman, I'm safer with him than without him."

"You don't know that. These things are like time bombs."

"This _thing_ is a living, breathing, feeling being, Mulder. I would send you out the door a hell of a lot sooner than I would him."

With that, Scully pats her leg. "Let's go," she says to George Hale. And to her amazement, the dog follows her. He does a complete circle to avoid Mulder.

That was shitty thing she did, hissing at him like that and storming out. She has always suspected he harbours abandonment issues about her, but giving away this dog? No way. And maybe Mulder _would_ be the first one out the door but he would have to do a lot worse than be the occasional asshole.

But it was an equally stupid thing _he_ said. Stupid because - and he will realize this to his horror one of these days - he suggested that she give away another creature who was important to her.

When she returns with George Hale ten minutes later, Mulder is in his office, leaning over trying to adjust the ice pack on his foot.

"Hi," she says quietly from the doorway. "We're back."

He wraps a sock around the ice pack and gently tugs. "Okay."

"Do you need some more ice?"

"I'm good."

One more try. "Mulder?"

He is turning back to the laptop he has been trying to work on. "Yeah?"

She hasn't planned a reply to the reply. "Nothing. Sorry."

She can't tell if he is upset with her, with himself or life in general but she doesn't have the heart to give him a '_Its Not Your Fault'_ speech. He would play proud and ask, _Fault for what?_ and she would be forced to rhyme off a list of things, starting with the fact that the dog is so scared of him;

"How is your foot?"

"Fine. I'm fine. My foot is fine. I'm fine. You're fine. We're all fine."

She lets the sarcasm go. He is wrong. Neither of them are particularly fine right now. In a frightened dog's mind, Mulder is a threat to him and to the only human being either he or Mulder trust.

She wishes he would update the message his poster from "_Trust No One_" to "_Trust, Scully, Skinner, Scully's Mother, and maybe This Dog._" If he had to, she would let him add, "_and no one else._"

Right now, preoccupied and restless and aching to be anywhere but here, she can't focus on her dog book or the report she needs to read. George Hale's bolt has taken her for a loop; he could have been lost, hit by a car and a thousand other scenarios that keep skittering through her head.

Scully spends the remainder of the evening in the living room, suffering an unexpected pang of melancholy. She just wants things to be the way they were; when she lived in DC and had her apartment, her mother, her safe, cluttered world. Before William, even. Or Mulder. She especially longs for her home, the nest, the sanctuary. If she were there, she would be on her couch, reading – maybe not a dog book, but something else she chose to spend her free time with. There would only be a few lights on, the soft ones. Would have showered and been in white bathroom, maybe listening to something on the stereo. That longing has crept back now big time

Instead she sits in a drafty house she hates. There are no carpets; the only couch is old and uncomfortable. The windows are covered in curtains that should have been burned years ago. Except for the fish tank there are no personal ties to this building, nothing to say that this is their home. Mulder's office might as well be his home. It has become his refuge from life - from her. He nests in here and doesn't even know it

There are no photographs of William, of themselves, of their families. In Georgetown, Scully had a few of family sprinkled around the apartment. Not many but enough to remind her that she belong to other people. Scully had kept the FBI M&S photograph in a desk drawer in her apartment. Occasionally, she would find it and wonder who those two people were and how their lives ever crossed and how they ever became so indispensable to the other. She has never been one of those women who kept photographs of their boyfriends, husbands, lovers in their purses, or on their desks in sweet little frames. But when Mulder disappeared all those years ago, she found this photograph of them - one of the few she had – and gently slipped it into her purse, behind her driver's license. When she found out she was pregnant, it was the first thing she reached for.

Now the lack of photographs in this house is merely a suggestion that maybe neither of them know anybody anymore, including each other.

She had never thought of him as a collector of things until they settled down here; his apartment was full (another word – decorated) with mementos, things that told you who he was, what was important to him. She realized this yesterday day when her mind drifted away from a meeting and she tried to remember what their apartments looked like. She can still remember every detail of both their homes. She waits for the day when the details won't come and she will no longer feel so homesick.

Desperate for a laugh, Mulder Googles, '_Writers Block_'. Amid pages of links is a small one from a site named _dumbeststudentever_. Mulder goes there and sees the first suggestion in big, orange colours.

_Clear screen; type in a word; the first word that comes to mind. _

Mulder leans forward and pounds out four letters

_Fuck_.

"_And then_," the site continues, "_type a second word._"

_Fuck this_.

_Then expound on your words_

_Fuck this shit. _

Mulder shrugs and begins stabbing at more letters which begin to turn into sentences.

_Fuck trying to recreate case files from a memory that is selective at best. Trying to keep up my front. Trying not to be bothered by a frightened dog who still considers me the enemy. Blurting out things I've wanted to say only to wish dearly that I hadn't. She doesn't want to talk about William or the past to me. I don't want to talk to Scully about what happened with the dog or why I've taken on the responsibility of being The Asshole lately; I don't want to ask if she is all right because if she is not, I truly doubt I would be able to help. I can barely help myself these days, let alone my partner in life, let alone her damn dog. I don't know who or what I am about anymore, what I believe in. She believes in me, in this dog, in us moving forward, in the present and the future. I can't seem to get beyond the safe, terrifying confines of the past, which I can neither put into words, nor escape from entirely. Draft_1fm_v.12_

By the time he hobbles into bed, he thinks he can get away with his plan of silence. Scully is already in bed, reading a medical journal. Mulder leans forward to kiss her but she blocks the move with her hand. "You haven't said a word all night."

"Neither have you."

Scully picks up the alarm clock. "I'm going to work from home tomorrow."

"I can manage," he promises as he stretches to the left and turns out his light. He knows damn well why she wants to stay home – to make sure George Hale suffers no further trauma at the hands of her intimidating partner; she is just too polite to say so.

She ignores his sigh because she isn't up to making her point that yes, he does need someone.

Scully turns out her light but she remains sitting against the pillows. These pillows were the first things she bought when they moved into this strange house. Linen; it was all she wanted. Linen was home and she missed home like she never thought was possible. She gave Mulder free reign over the rest of the house but the bedroom and bathroom were hers.

Scully can see George Hale's collar reflecting off the bedroom mirror from where he is hunched in the living room corner. His tail is curled under his body.

"Mulder…"

"mmmmm what."

"What happened with George Hale … it was an accident. You didn't mean to fall over him or to have him run off. It's just bad timing."

He rolls onto his back. "Bet you've have been keeping that in all night. Pity Patrol on duty?"

"I'm not wrong, pity patrol or not."

"Damnit"

"What?"

There is a heavy sigh. "I have to go to the bathroom." He loads himself out of bed and hops clumsily into the bathroom. He hates this, being barely able to make it from one room to another and knowing Scully is watching his every move.

After a moment of listening to nothing, she hears a quieter admission in shammed defeat. "I can't do this."

"Can't do what?"

She is interrupted by the sound of pee attacking the toilet bowl. Then there is the flush. And then more silence.

"Just think about it," his doubting voice continues. "Maybe he would be better off somewhere else."

"Where, Mulder? Another shelter where he can be scheduled for _another_ euthanization? Would _that_ be better off?"

"Scully - "

"Do you honestly think he wouldn't want to feel as safe as we do?"

"And how is living here going to change that, Scully?"

"Living here or living with _you_?"

Nailed it.

"I don't know what to do for this dog – He's – he's too much for me." Mulder finally says with more defeat that he thought was possible. "I don't know what I'm doing except that I'm scaring the hell out of him."

"It was only this one time."

"There have been other times, too. You saw him tonight, Scully. He was afraid of me and he was afraid for you. He deserves better than to be hiding for the rest of his life in a place that is supposed to be his home, his safe haven. I just don't think this is a good idea. I'm not saying take him back-"

"Good because that is not going to happen."

"I know, I just said that."

Silence.

"You need to give it more time," Scully continues, plugging away at this brick wall because she is the only one who will ever succeed. "He has only been here a little over a month. Let him learn to trust you. You know how. You're already doing it."

"And if I'm not? You think I want to be the one who loses him when he runs away again or maybe just disappears out a window one night?"

Silence drops on the house with a thud.

He can't believe this gem _didn't_ come soaring out of his mouth when William was born. The fear was there in full force, both of its probability and that he could let this secret fear out. Losing another one on his watch. Now this four legged one who, despite the fact he was not previously on Mulder's emotional radar, is turning into something more precious than he knew.

In the mirror, Mulder can see her heading towards him. He shouldn't have said what he just said. It gave away too much.

Scully slips up to him from behind and wraps her arms around his waist. His skin is cold. In the mirror, she can see his face and the disappointment in himself. It is a look she has seen too many times. "You haven't done anything wrong, Mulder. And you won't let anything happen to him. You just need to trust yourself more, then he will."

He could argue her conviction, but he knows better.

"You know what's funny?" she asks him with a lift in her voice.

"No," he says in a voice that suggests he needs to hear _anything_ funny.

"Two humans with chronic trust issues trying to push blind faith onto a fearful dog."

This gets a nod and half a smile from him. For a second, he thinks this could be a good title for his book: "_Two Humans with Chronic Trust Issues Trying to Push Blink Faith onto a Fearful Dog_" by Spooky Fox Mulder. The jacket could be a sketch of a broken X left on the side of a road. Inside, on the first page, only one sentence: "_What the fuck were we thinking._" The rest of the book would be filled with little thought bubbles like the comic books do - his thoughts, her thoughts which she thinks he doesn't know;

_I don't know what to do - What the do I tell my mother about her grandson? If he were here, would we be whole? I wonder what my father say if he had lived to see me arrive at this point in time. Do we take our lead from a frightened dog with no past? Food. Now._

Her quiet voice interrupts the many floating bubbles. "You okay these days?"

"I'm good."

"Yeah?"

"No," he slowly admits. "But I'm trying."

Scully just smiles at him because she loves him. She tugs his elbow. "Come on."

They both stop at the doorway.

George Hale is sitting in the hallway. He is watching them watching him.

"Maybe he's never seen a naked man with a slightly fractured foot before," is all Scully can think as she helps Mulder back into bed.

"Tell him the bad, naked man is too tired to fall over him again," Mulder says, dragging the blankets back over his shoulder. He bangs his foot against the footboard and it hurts like hell but he keeps it to himself.

She walks towards the doorway and, crouching, holds her hand out. "Come here, George Hale."

The dog stays where he is. His ears are forward, a good sign Scully has read. But he isn't going to come any nearer than he has to.

"I'm going to take him out for a quick pee," Scully says, and heads out into the dark living room

"_Now_?" she hears Mulder whine from their bed.

"Go to sleep," she calls back from the front door. "I won't be long."

Mulder lies in the dark, listening to the sound of her placid, straightforward voice talking to George Hale, telling him he is a good dog as she works the leash onto his collar. He will wait until she is safely beside him in bed before he'll go to sleep; but he is out cold by the time George Hale even lifts a leg.


	6. Chapter 6

George Hale: Chapter 6

It's not the shitty muffler of the truck that wakes him up, it is the sound of human pounding on the front door, followed by human voices.

Mulder has 'overslept' again; his new phrase for crawling back into bed once he has seen Scully off to work with a smile and a wave.

On the way to the door, he passes George Hale who is behind the couch, hiding from the noise.

Mulder's tumble down the front steps a few weeks ago has set their relationship even further back. The limping and banging he had to do to get from point A to B didn't help. Then, the crutches a fed up Scully brought home made it even worse. He only stopped using the crutches a few days ago and he thought the nerves in this dog had finally settled down.

Two delivery truck men are standing in his doorway. One of them is holding an envelope in his hand. The other is holding out a signature form and pen.

"What the hell is this?" Mulder asks, taking the envelope. He stuffs it in his pocket and signs for it. These aren't the usual delivery people he deals with, from the order companies, who know his name by now, and everything else about him. These two are independent, and obviously not happy about having to drive this far out into the wilderness for a 3x5 envelope with a cheque that likely contains more than they will see in a year.

"By the looks of the envelope, I'd say - whoa, look at that killer-"

His head is peering around Mulder's shoulder.

George Hale is crouched behind the table now. There is a strange look on his face. His tail is between his legs. Mulder isn't sure but he thinks the dog's teeth may be showing.

"That's my dog," he replies, still staring at the envelope. He swings the door behind him.

"Have a nice-" the man with the clipboard calls sarcastically

"Yeah, whatever." Mulder sighs and stares at the dog. "What?"

George Hale backs up, his eyes on Mulder. He is trembling.

"Those guys?"

A terrible feeling hits him that George Hale has a memory and these two guys just triggered one of its highlights.

"Damn it, George Hale - tell me what to do and I'll do it and you don't have to live here looking like I'm the monster..."

But the frustration in his voice just makes it worse and George Hale shrinks his little body as small as he can and slinks out of the room. He is still shaking an hour later.

* * *

"I told you, I don't know what set him off." Mulder adds sarcastically, "He wouldn't _tell_ me."

Scully has called to ask him about one of their bank accounts. Mulder ignored the question and went right to the delivery men.

"I don't know what to tell you, Mulder. These dogs have histories we'll never know about. My guess is that one or both of the men reminds him of something that happened to him. The woman at the shelter thought he might have been used for fighting, by the look of the scar across his muzzle."

"He doesn't strike me as a fighter."

The line is silent. They are both thinking the same thing. Bait. This idea makes both of their stomachs turn.

"Listen," Scully says, forcing reason back into her voice. "Keep an eye on him. I'll take him out tonight when I get home, and we'll do something normal with him."

"Great, he can ignore me outside _and_ inside"

"It takes time, Mulder. He saw you protecting him from them by closing the door. It's another step in the right direction."

"My optimistic little partner."

"So, what did you buy this time? Another toaster?"

He makes a face at the phone. "Yes. Pink. To match the blender."

Between a defeated dog and a battered box, Mulder spends the rest of the morning trying to find a reason to shower and change for the day. He knows what is in the envelope. – the return address of G. Simpson Publishing is hint enough that it and he delays opening it as long as he can.

Seven Thousand Dollars. The cheque is made out to _Fox William Mulder_ for _Seven Thousand Dollars for Advance for Services Agreed to by G. Simpson Publishing. _In other words, money for a book he is supposed to write; the book that Scully has no idea he is working on.

"Christ," he says, dropping onto the couch. Nothing like three '0' s and one '7' to get the old pressure going. For a moment, he considers ripping the cheque into pieces.

"Hey, George Hale, you want seven grand?" he calls over to the dog. There is only the sound of nails clicking further away in the kitchen.

"Me neither."

* * *

_"I used to call myself when I felt that anonymity was a necessity. Now, I am D. Lumer because I worry that nobody will care who F. Mulder is or was. I should have said no the minute Skinner conveyed the message that someone was interested in paranormal real cases – folklore, I think I heard Skinner quote. It was fine with the bureau, he said, as long as they have a look before it goes to press. Just don't write anything derogatory about the bureau. Why did I take this offer? For myself? Scully? When she was pleading for me to see reason, to let go of the past, she told me to write it down; my history, my baggage – all of it. Stop trying to chase it and just archive it. Skinner's offer came along and I have trying to do just that. Trying - as if the act itself is enough of an effort. I don't kid myself that it is. The arrival of this advance – special delivery, no less and all that runs through my mind is, what the hell was I thinking and what the hell are they expecting; every chapter I write sounds like another dry, ordinary paranormal detail. When I first wrote of these cases, these histories, centuries ago, the reports were detailed and complete. They rivaled Scully's in terms of accuracy and scope. Now, looking back, these same cases and histories lack any kind of animation and I was desperate enough to think I might be able to bring them to life again." FWM_

Mulder steps outside twice that day; once only because George Hale made whining noises. Other than that, his ass is numb from sitting on this chair and trying to come up with a reason to finish the paragraph he began two days ago. The advance he got for promising this crap is growing on his conscience and he isn't even halfway through the day yet.

At three o'clock he wanders outside again and makes a decision. He is going to go for a run because if he doesn't get out of here right now, he may go well and truly crazy. He used to go running all the time, when they first moved in; he couldn't stay still in this house. He ran hard, trying not to feel so restless and suspicious; waiting for something to settle inside.

His foot is still sore but it will take him where he needs to go because that's what feet do. He won't bother to offer the leash to the dog. Mulder isn't in the mood for any more rejection.

Until he changes his mind, Mulder kills as much time as possible changing into an old pair of sweats. He sits down on the front chair and continues the charade, one shoe at a time. He thinks about what he is about to do. With any luck, he will still be out when Scully comes home and she will know that he has at least made an effort to stay outside for longer than it takes a nervous dog to pee. He may even start up the truck and leave it running long enough to make her think he has used it. Maybe back it up to the fence and back, make some convincing tire tracks. If the ground is too cold or dry for tracks, he can take a bucket of water with him and soak the ground before driving over it.

"For godsakes," he hisses, fed up with the him who is who is now coming up with stupid ideas to keep his partner's peace of mind where it should be. Disinformation used to be his greatest enemy, but if Scully doesn't get that look of worry off her face, it is going to become his best friend. He hates worrying her. She has spent years worrying about him physically, emotionally, mentally and she doesn't need to be doing it here, in the safest place, the land least likely to take his life or his mind, or his mental faculties. But she is.

He holds on to the banister and takes careful steps down the porch steps. His foot still hurts and ever since tripping over the damn dog a month ago, he has had a slight phobia about doing it again. He never used to feel this vulnerable when he _was_ vulnerable to all kinds of danger. Now, three wooden steps and a solid banister have him practically on tippy-toes. Times have changed.

Mulder isn't sure exactly why he can't bring himself to do this anymore. Maybe because he is no longer in the city and he can only run on properly paved cement. That's crap, though. He's got running shoes, he can handle any terrain. No, it is him, it is his issue with leaving the property. Scully is right. He has a big problem.

The number on the display is familiar – one she used to see when they were on the road.

"Sir." She can't break this habit when Skinner calls. She doubts she ever will. This man, who was their lifeline for a year will always be deserving of that title.

"Do you have a minute, Scully?"

"Of course," She carefully leans over and closes the door to her office. "You're calling from your other line?"

"Don't I always?"

"Yes – no – I guess I forget you don't need to use the - never mind."

Skinner, as he always does, gets right to the point. "Why isn't Mulder returning my calls? The many I've placed to your house and left on your answering machine."

Scully is drawing a blank. "When did you – I wasn't aware you'd left any messages."

"Well I did. Plenty of them. Is he all right?"

Truly baffled, Scully nods. "As far as I know. He was hobbling around last month with a bad foot but there's no reason he wouldn't have answered the phone."

"He knows I need him to get back to me – could you have him call me by end of day."

"Yes. Of course. Is there anything I should know?"

"Best leave that up to him. Apart from that, is everything all right? Is there anything you need?"

"We're fine, thank you. "

There is a pause on the line. The waiting kind. Finally, he asks, **"**What's wrong, Scully?"

She has become that transparent to someone other than Mulder and her mother. She isn't sure if this is a good thing or a bad one.

"Mulder?"

"Something is off." Scully picks up a pencil and begins filling in a round doodle she started last week. "He is spending more time in his office, more newspapers are piling up, spread about the floor. He has become so quiet."

There is a strange hesitation in Skinner's voice. "What has he been working on?"

"I don't think he's working on anything. He said he was finishing up an article but I think that's just to keep me off the scent. I don't remember the last time he finished or even started anything. "

"Maybe he has hit a dry spell."

"No, then he becomes restless. He used to go for long walks. Now, the only time he goes outside is to the end of the drive to pick up the mail and his daily newspaper. The only people he talks to are the delivery men who bring what he orders from the internet…" She digs the nib of the pen deeper into the paper. "I've seen him lose his family, through cases that turned him inside out, when he was moved from the X-files onto mind numbing desk jobs. He has very strong sense of self that he has always possessed to pull himself up. He found what he needed to keep going through what happened to his sister, to his family. But I don't see that now. He's living a life where nothing happens and the darkest enemy is himself.

"He once told me in a parking garage that he didn't even trust his own instincts any more. He had given up. And as he said this, I watched him slide down a concrete wall to the floor without even realize it, giving up without realizing it."

Scully snaps the end of the pencil and realizes she has been talking non-stop, embarrassed at the unexpected monologue. But she knows Skinner is listening. Even with so many years away from their work together, he still manages to look over their shoulders and listen when necessary.

"He's just being typical Mulder," Scully concludes. "I'll have him call you tonight."

"You call me too, if you think I need to know anything. I'm not that far away."

And, damned if he isn't.

Skinner hangs up and stares at the phone for a long moment. He picks it up and dials slowly. "Hi, it's me…..."

* * *

There is a path through the back of the property that will take him to a side road that at least has half decent paving. The one that goes past their house is full of pot holes, the occasional road-kill and lots and lots of ways to hurt yourself if you aren't paying attention, which he isn't these days. So he'll take the safe route.

He sets out for the fresh air. The property is overgrown, goes for a mile or so and is so depressing, he thinks he should turn around and just go home. Trees are sticks pointing out of the grown, a few of them promising leaves and colour, but none of them living up to this hope. It rained a few days ago and there is still mud where there was no sunshine to dry it up.

Mulder keeps an even pace as he dodges low, sharp branches. So far so good on the foot. A bit of ache, but nothing debilitating. He keeps his eyes on the ground for the next step is amazed each time that he completes it without suddenly dropping down through the ground. The ground is soft and dangerous. Branches are hidden under mud, leaves are wet and sneaky and waiting to cause trouble.

Mulder thinks about the book and quickly shuts it out of his mind. He thinks about George Hale and puts that out of his mind. He thinks about Scully and would like to put her out of his mind but this isn't as easy. She is in every careful step he takes, every left or right turn he decides to make, Do you really want to go that way? Do you really think you will get anywhere taking this path? Do you really think you are fine? What if he can't see this book through? What if Scully finds out? What if she doesn't?

"Shit!"

His bad leg has just made contact with a rock and sent Mulder flying into the air with a good thud landing on his side. Mulder sits up and considers never getting up ever again. Why bother, he thinks. Why the hell bother. For the next fifteen minutes, he will sit where he is and tries to come up with an answer. And when he thinks he can face his world again – the house-prison, the dog who hates him, the book that will never be finished because it will never be started, the life he used to have – when he thinks this is manageable, he pulls himself up with a tree branch, and limps home.

* * *

_Remember to talk in simple terms to your new family member. He is in a new place, with new smells and new sounds – your voice and words are his link. Don't use too many words when one or two will do. If you say, 'Come and Sit'. This will confuse them. You have issued two commands in one and the dog may be unsure as to which to follow. Let him know what you need from him in simple words. Success in this relationship will depend on clear communication of both of your wants and needs. - You &Your Rescue Dog"_

Mulder beats Scully home by twenty minutes. In that time, he has jammed his filthy clothes into the washing machine and jumped into the shower. If she asks why he is washing his running clothes, he will say he is freshening them up, preparing for the first run of the season or some other such bullshit which she might be too tired to question.

From the shower, he can hear the front door open, and then slam shut. Then he hears her march into the bathroom, yelling, "Mulder". He knows she is angry when she calls for him, knowing damn well where he is. A running shower is a dead giveaway to a former FBI agent.

"What!" he calls over the shower stall.

He hears her bark something at him and reluctantly, he turns off the water. Mulder pokes his head out and snaps, "_What_?" louder.

Her face tightens. She still has her coat on - she means business. "When did you last take him out!"

"Who?"

"Who the hell do you think I mean? The dog. When did you last take him out?"

"I don't remember. A while ago." And it hits him. 'A while ago' – meaning this morning. Shit. The dog must have had an accident while Mulder was out feeling sorry for himself, having his own accidents.

"The smell of urine can sink right into the floors if you don't clean it up right away. And according to the book, if any scent lingers, he might go to the spot and think that peeing or pooping there is allowed."

"Since when do you care about stains?"

She is only contained enough to glare at him. _Since you resumed being an asshole! _

"Is that what that look is, Scully? So you would like me to run and clean up his pee?"

Scully is in a filthy mood. After Skinner's call, the memories of thoseAfter-The-Bureau-& On-the-Run and After-the-Rundays paid a rare visit and too many of them still sting. Mulder becoming isolated, Mulder not talking, Mulder slipping further away from both of them into a darkness he could never tell her about. And now, according to Skinner, Mulder is keeping secrets.

"Fine," he spits out. "I'm sorry, I'll go clean it up."

She stands there, in the middle of the bathroom staring at him. "Why the hell are you showering _now_?"

"I don't know, Scully, it just seemed like the best thing I could think of to _really_ piss you off when you got home. I've been in here shivering for the last half hour, just _waiting_ for you to walk through that door."

Scully leaves. Over her shoulder she calls, "You have to let the dog out, Mulder, he doesn't know how to use the door handle or the toilette. Without opposable thumbs, these tasks are difficult for a dog. And when a dog is forced to go in the house or someplace it shouldn't, that resonates with him."

He shames himself, is what she is saying. Well, Scully can't Mulder any worse than he has shamed himself. Mulder had spent twenty minutes sitting in mud, and she is lecturing him on how to let a dog go to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom with a towel around his waist. She is sitting on the bed, her coat lying next to her. George Hale is on the floor. When he sees Mulder, he crawls out of the room.

"I'm sorry," Mulder says. "I was working in my office and I lost track of time. It won't happen again."

"Why do we even have a dog if you can't remember to take him out."

It's too easy. He tosses back, "You're the one who got him, you answer that," without a thought. And when he sees her hesitate, he realizes he has just asked The Question. And there is no going back. "Why did you get him, Scully?"

She is about to stand up - his question sits her down again. "I beg your pardon?"

"I been clamping my tongue not asking you this but I'm asking now. What is the real reason you got this dog?"

"I've already told you my reasons."

"And those were your real reasons?"

She is getting closer to losing it. "What other reasons would there be?"

The washing machine burps its last gasp to tell him it has finished. "I wonder – I've wondered if part of the reason – part of the attraction of having a dog to look after is in some way a connection to William."

She isn't sure if she should be horrified or just plain insulted. William is a subject she and Mulder stay away from. They know how the other feels, and they do what they can when them of them begins to sink towards the plug hole. But they don't talk about him. They can't. It hurts too much.

"George Hale is about George Hale. My world does extend beyond my son, you know."

"I didn't say that it didn't -"

"You, whom I once accused of letting his sister's disappearance defining who you were and what you did. And I was wrong."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Scully. I was wrong."

Scully is willing to let this be, to take the branch and leave this subject forever. Until she hears Mulder think aloud, "I wonder if William has a dog."

She gets up and quietly storms away from this man.

In a second he is following her into the living room ready to jump into the opening he has just created for himself. "Why can't I talk about him?"

But she is beyond huge elephants disguised as simple questions. "Leave it Mulder."

"We can barely say his name, we don't display any pictures of him. Why the hell can't I at least mention him?"

She whirls around. "Because I can't!"

He takes a breath and tries again. "I realize that you don't want to talk about certain things – people… him. I respect that, but at the same time, _I_ want to talk about him. There are things I want to ask – about what things he did, what made him laugh - that's all I want to say. That's all I will say. I just wanted you to know where I am coming from." Mulder waits through the silence. He knows she won't be the one to end it. "Fine," he finally says. "It's done."

There is so much Scully longs to say and even more she longs to never have to think about again. So she won't.

He makes the mistake of changing the subject by looking out the front window towards the road and remarking stupidly, "You forgot to close the fence."

"What the hell are you - That fence is a waste of my time, Mulder. It's a useless collection of wood and screws that you think will protect you from every power that might be hiding behind the trees. "

"Actually, it is just a fence."

"For what? What purpose? I mean, who are you trying to keep out Mulder? The conspiracy? The neighbours? The law? The conspiracy is dead, we don't_ have _any neighbours and we're not sought by the law anymore. So what the hell is left to keep out?"

"You know as well as I do, we can't afford to just let things swing open and shut. You've never considered simple caution?"

"The only purpose as far as I can tell that damn thing serves is to give you a job to go to once a day so you can close it after I've gone."

"Don't go there, Scully," he warns.

"No. Exactly. God forbid I go anywhere."

Mulder turns back to the bedroom and changes into a clean pair of jeans. He isn't sure, but he thinks his legs may be trembling. He can't believe he has just said what he has just said about William; he didn't know it was all so tightly packed in there like that.

"Sorry, George Hale," Scully apologizes when she is in the comfort of darkness, away from the house. She wonders if she will ever trust herself to let the dog off the leash. She will wait for a time when both she and Mulder are in better moods. A silent argument about who should go and find the lost dog on a dark winter night is not what is needed these days.

**G**eorge Hale sniffs and wags his way along the path to the long driveway. She didn't forget to close the fucking gate, she just didn't bother. She never bothers anymore. This rickety, eighteen foot gate of protection and security is Mulder's fantasy and if he wants to open or shut it, that's his problem, not hers.

"Come on," she says when George Hale has sniffed enough. "Let's go close it in case any of the neighbours are watching." Scully smiles at her small joke. Neighbours are something George Hale will never know if they stay here forever. _Forever._ A terrible word.

At the sound of her voice, the dog's head turns, waiting for the next words. He has become devoted to this human being. He was from the first contact in the shelter when she put her hand out so carefully so that she wouldn't startle him.

She suddenly wants to unload everything about William to this dog but she can't. Even this is too hard. "I'm sorry if – I'm sorry about the atmosphere in the house is … When he brings up that damned fence ... The first thing he did when we moved here was fix it. We finally stop running and can start a new life – and what`s the only thing he cares about? That the fence was up and visible. This isn't our usual life, George Hale. I don't know if Mulder and I even have a 'usual' life to return to. Or begin. When we lived in DC our relationship was … We're not usually like this. Or maybe we are, I don't know. We've been through so many turns in the last few years, let alone the last fifteen – maybe this is how we really are… I worry that this is as good as it will get - as we will get. And as for ... him... I don't talk to Mulder about him. Actually, there is a lot we - I can never talk to him about it."

If sympathy is a sniff at a cracked brick in the grass, then George Hale has just given her his all.

There is nice, companionable silence as they reach the top of the drive. Scully grabs the fence and swings it shut.

"We actually separated for a while," she reluctantly admits, and leans against the fence. "When we stopped running, and made this our home, I took an apartment near the hospital because it seemed logical for early and late shifts. The truth is, it was easier when I was away from him. We had spent almost a year driving, running, at the most only a motel room away from the other. I know it was hard on Mulder when I moved out. I missed him terribly but it was too soon to set-up house. We would meet for lunch, occasionally dinner – sometimes he would stay over. He began to leave some of his things in the bathroom drawer - toothbrush, shaving kit." She smiles. "I didn't find his week's supply of underwear for a month. And then I got the invitation from the FBI and when the helicopter returned us to the property, Mulder asked me if I wanted to stay over instead making the long drive back into town. I said yes. And I moved back home the next day."

Even during the bitterest of times on the road, there was never ever a question of one of them walking away from the other because both of their lives depended on the other; and that security gave them both extra fire power when the going got rough. And now, standing still, the luxury of knowing the other cannot leave has evaporated. Anything can happen. Anything is up for grabs, both of them included.

"Come on," she gently says. "I bet he hasn't fed you yet."

They climb the front stairs, foot and paw steps making a familiar sounds, the kind she remembers from her childhood, climbing the pathway from the river to the house in the summers. Walking on tips of toes; even, patient sound tap-tap-tap. When Mulder bought the house, the steps were eaten away – he wanted to replace the lumber with cement; she said no - wood.

Mulder has turned the lights on, that warm glow starting at the door and reaching into every corner. These are the nights she loves to come home to. Trust Mulder to give her a do-over; trust Mulder to do it at the wrong time.

He is sitting on the couch pretending to read a magazine. He doesn't know what to say, so he comes up with easy talk. He asks, without taking his eyes from a 'Depends' ad, if George Hale did number two.

"No." Scully unhooks the leash and hangs it up on the hook next to the door.

"Oh."

They are reduced to talking about the dog's bowel movements.

"Where did all that mud on the porch come from?" Scully tugs at one boot, then the other.

"I don't know," he lies. "Scully, I didn't mean the comment about** ...**. It just came out. Sorry about ..."

"That's _not_ why I got George Hale and you know it."

"I know, I just said that." He shakes his head. "Bad day?"

"Yes. No. Just long."

Skinner's call took care of any peace of mind she had left.

He puts the magazine down and pats the cushion next to him. "Sit down and tell Uncle Spooky about it." She knows that voice. She has been hearing it for a long time now; Mulder trying to sound natural. Now, he just sounds like a defeated man who had to limp home.

She yawns and drops her head on his shoulder. "Dinner?"

"I just put it in. Should be done in ten or so."

"Thanks."

He watches her eyes close and wonders if she is going to drift off. She often returns home exhausted and asleep on the couch by the time dinner is ready. He should be used to it by now but he's not. He has seen her running after three days, no sleep and never this tired. Maybe it is just age catching up to them. He's not any younger either. Mulder the night owl became Mulder the old man when they stopped running and moved into this strange house. Now, they are both asleep by ten o'clock.

"Mulder…"

"Mmm?"

"We have to talk."

He braces himself for the worst when words like these come out of her mouth. '_I'm leaving you. I've met someone else. I think we need another dog'_.

She opens her eyes and sits up tiredly. "Skinner called me at the hospital today. Wanted to know why you haven't returned any of his messages."

Mulder learns forward and scratches his foot. "Oh. Well. I'll call him back then."

"When?"

"Tomorrow." Mulder hoists himself to his feet. "I'll go check on dinner."

Standing at the oven, stirring their dinner with a ladle, Mulder can hear Scully stop in the doorway.

"What's wrong?"

"I think I may have added too much salt."

"You know what I mean."

He stirs a few more safe moments, his back still to her.

"Don't make me stand here guessing."

A plea he once made to her. _Please don't make me go out of my mind with worry_.

He turns around, puts the spoon on the wood table. Wood on wood. Camouflage. He could do with a little of that right now. "He wants to talk about a job."

Scully breathes again. "A job?"

"Yes. Job. It's one of those things you do and they give you money for it…"

"Mulder, stop it. He's offered you a job? With the bureau?"

He looks down at his feet "Yes. It wouldn't be in DC. He wasn't specific about where."

"That's **– **why didn't you say something?"

"I don't think it is a good idea, Scully."

She thought she knew what a _Good Idea_ was; a G_ood Idea_ is an opportunity to restart something of a normal life. In a place that wasn't DC. "Why?"

"It's too soon. We need to keep a low profile for a while longer."

"Says who? Skinner wouldn't suggest this unless he knew we would be safe. You know that as well as I do."

Mulder nods and turns back to the stove. The soup is ready and he twists the knob to _off._

"We need to talk about this," Scully says, pulling two bowls from the upper cabinet.

"I was going to tell you."

"Were you? Really? When?" She puts the bowls down and waits for the answer as guilt at this superior outburst takes over. Miss Hypocrite, please step up.

"I just needed more time."

_For what_, she wants to know. _To come up with a half decent story if he got caught_? _To come up with at least five decent reasons why they should stay here for another year_?

"I have something I need to talk to you about, then," she puts the bowls, and spoons on the table off the living room as the term hypocrite dances through her mind.

"Oh, great."

"It's not bad – I probably should have talked to you about it sooner – I mean, I _should_ have talked to you about it sooner – I didn't – Never mind." They sit down at the table, an antique that Mulder managed to include with the house. "I've been investigating other job opportunities."

"You have?"

"Yes- Nothing specific…"

"Jobs… here?"

She avoids his eyes and says only, "No."

He feels as if she has just kicked him in the stomach while confessing to an affair with every man who works at the hospital. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I need your permission to look at other jobs?"

But they both know this is not what she means. They both know, that given any interest on her part, Scully could have her picks of jobs in any city in any country in any universe she chose. -she wants out of the nest and ambition isn't the reason.

"What kind of jobs?"

"It turns out that there is - there was an opportunity at the Boston University for me to join the Toxicology Research Department."

Even though it is not an option, she won't mention Washington General, the only one of the offers she actually wants. It's the location that strikes it off the list.

Mulder sits back in the chair and tries not to show how anxious he feels right now. One incredibly insecure part of him wants to ask if she wants to include him. She might not. She didn't do it once before, she may be ready to cut the cord now. The conversation screams in his head.

"When did that come up?" he asks tightly

"A few months ago. Again last week. Boston called wanting to know if I'd made any decisions."

"And had you?"

"I would have told you, Mulder."

He smiles dangerously and takes a sip of the soup. "I'm not the only one full of surprises, am I?"

"No." Scully lowers her eyes. "I suppose not." Why the hell can't she tell him how much she has been aching to leave this place and start over any other place in the country.

"And what did you tell them?"

"That I hadn't decided yet."

"And was that the truth?"

She lets her spoon drop into the soup and tries not to take offence at the question. "Yes, Mulder. It was the truth. I haven't decided anything yet, nor would I without talking to you about it at length." She knows how he gets when something unknown in her creeps his way. Mulder being backed into a corner outside his comfort zone is an insult waiting to happen.

"What do you think you'd like to do?"

_What would I like to do? Besides go home to DC, start over and forget much of this lifetime even existed except for you and -_

"They are just offers, Mulder. I don't know if I would even go to the interviews at the preliminary stage."

"I thought you liked being a regular Doctor."

"I do. It's just … not that black and white." She tries to sound genuine as she picks reasons out of the air. "Everything at the hospital is so tense right now. Nobody agrees with anybody. The politics surrounding this Futility Policy - its making me think twice about staying. I'm not sure how long I can put up with this nonsensical back and forth with a man who clearly has no intention of budging in his position; or a board of directors who show no intention of backing off in their support of him."

His voice softens. "I didn't know work was that bad."

"It's not …. It is – but … it's not all work related."

Life, she thinks. It's just life.

"Why didn't you say anything? This involves both of us, Scully."

"And your offer from Skinner doesn't? I'm like you, Mulder, scared to death of the next step. Looking ahead seems so … big."

What follows is the sound of two people who are both ashamed of their silences and equally protective of them. It is a dangerous combination.

"Tell me more about Skinner's offer."

He shrugs. "There's not much to tell. He was going to give me more details when I call him back."

"I think we should go," she says, surprising both of them with this announcement.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't mean specifically to the bureau." Scully looks directly across the table at him. "I think we should leave _here_. You take your offer, or I'll take mine or we'll find something else. Its time Mulder. It's _past_ time. For both of us. We need to move on or else we are going to stay here forever."

The conversation Mulder has been dreading is now creeping up in plain view. He should have seen this coming. "I don't agree. George Hale - Scully, can you get him to stop pacing, its driving me crazy."

The dog has been nosing between their chairs, waiting for someone to drop something.

"We've done this too long, Mulder. I want to move on."

"And what, in your opinion, constitutes moving on?"

She could kill him when he gets like this. Superior and defensive. This trait hasn't changed since the day she met him.

"Going back to a real city with real people. Seeing people than each other for long periods of times. Saying good morning to strangers. Waiting in line for a coffee that's going to taste good when you finally get it. Not having to watch you become more and more isolated."

"I haven't been alone since you got George Hale." Bullshit. More often than not, being avoided by a dog who should be used to him by now has distanced him even more from the world.

She wants to give up. She is too tired to have this conversation right now because she knows she will say something he will jump on, either to his advantage or her detriment.

"Scully – I know you want what's best for me – for us."

"They why didn't you tell me about the job offer? Because you knew I'd want you to take it?"

"Partly," he gives her.

"I want my life back, Mulder. I want my life, my mother, my brothers…. My freedom. I need it. We both do."

He has no idea she felt like this. But he knows how much she needs these things. He has always known this and never loses sight of every single thing she has done for him from the first time she didn't laugh at one of his theories to bringing home a dog who needed to be saved. But he is not prepared for what she says next.

"And I want people to know who _you_ are. That the mysterious Mulder is this wonderful man whom I cherish more than anything on this earth and not some mythical partner I've invented in my mind."

"Scully …."

"I don't expect any of this to change, Mulder. I know things are different from your perspective, I know how hard this last year has been on you and that you're doing the best you can. I … I just want you to understand."

Her eyes are filling and she wishes to God he could not see this. It doesn't happen often but when it does, she immediately feels thrown under the pity light and is ten times weaker.

"I'm sorry – I didn't know you felt that way –"

"It doesn't matter."

Silence, which is usually companionable around this table, is louder. Mulder clears his throat. "I found a couple of dog training books on line. I might order them tomorrow."

"That's a good idea." And she means this. George Hale has been on her mind, as with everything else that has been piled into the corner of the overloaded space up there. She is worried he has not met any people or dogs other than her and Mulder. Someone at the hospital had a dog that went after a smaller dog because they had not socialized it properly.

She is suddenly exhausted from the battles of the day. "I'm going to shower and go to bed. There's a report I need to start."

He watches her push her chair back and take her bowl back into the kitchen. As usual, George Hale gets to his feet and follows. His collar makes a distinct rattle.

"Scully – " he calls after her. But he stays where he is. There is so much he wants to tell her. The book, the advance, the way nothing is coming out the way he wants it to. Why Skinner's offer has him scared shitless.

She pokes her head around the door. "Yes?"

"Nothing. Get going, I'll clean up here."

George Hale is sound asleep on the floor sleeping next to her side of bed on floor. He has been sleeping here for the last few weeks.

"Snow is starting to come down," Mulder says returning from his shower. He flops down on his side of the bed and rests head on his elbow. He traces his finger along her hair until he gets her attention away from the laptop she has sought refuge in.

"We'll go back, Scully, wherever it is you need to be."

She gently puts the laptop lid down. The lights flicker, announcing hibernation mode she hates so much. "I think we just need to start thinking about our options. What Skinner has, what my options might become … let's start thinking about them."

"We start with your options," Mulder corrects "We go where you want to go."

"No, we go where it's best for both of us."

"Scully, you've given up so much for me – the next place, step, it's about you."

She knows better than to argue with him. He has that look on his face, the one that is settled with himself.

He reaches over and, with one arm, lifts the laptop onto his nightstand.

"I might need that," she protests.

"Not for what I have in mind. Well, unless you plan on keeping a journal. '_Dear Diary, tonight Mulder was so..."_

She raises an eyebrow. "Forgetting about last time?"

It wasn't pretty. George Hale had wandered into the bedroom when he heard unusual giggling and strange squeaking sounds. His first instinct was to growl at Mulder with a stern warning. When he realized it might not be his alpha at risk, he backed up. He was so puzzled by what he saw that he didn't know which one of his people he should be defending from the other. He began to prance back and forth until his two humans – entwined in some kind of ritual - stopped what they were doing and stared at him until it dawned on them what his problem was. No, it wasn't pretty.

Mulder has the solution for this tonight. "George Hale," he coos politely. "_Get out_."

But Scully has a funny look on her face. She lifts the laptop back onto her lap. "Not right now."

This isn't something the other hasn't heard or said before – a year on the road has taught them the art of blunt honesty – but it still feels like shit to be on the receiving end.

Mulder gulps in semi-mock shock. "I'm being denied?"

"Two nights in a row isn't good enough? Not tonight, Mulder. I'm tired and I need to get a start on this."

"Okay," he says, trying to sound like a good sport. He knows when to follow her lead. He always has.

"Do you mind if I keep the light on?" she asks politely.

"No. Keep it on." But he does mind. He suddenly minds very much that she wants to keep a light on; that she wants to work on a report instead of having sex with him; that she tried to find a way out of here and kept it a secret from him; that she wants to move on and didn't tell him. Mostly, that she wants to move on and he doesn't.

And, most of all, he minds how much this last detail is disturbing him so much.


	7. Chapter 7

George Hale: Chapter 7

_When training your rescue dog there will be steps forward and steps back. Don't lose momentum. Praise him for the good. Verbal communication with a positive tone of voice can provide the boost which both you and your rescue need. Don't get discouraged. Don't give up. Don't lose patience. Your new dog is depending on you. If he makes mistakes, it is not because he wants to. – (You & Your Rescue Dog)_

* * *

Mulder's world changes at twelve-thirty two in the afternoon. He rips another page out of the printer, another load of crap he couldn't put into a decent sentence, and crumbles it with disgust. With a certain kind of fury, tosses it at the doorway and watches it bounce from the ceiling to the floor. It is a terrible throw and it doesn't make it past the office doorway.

Then, he hears the sound of nails on wood floor, gathering momentum, getting louder.

George Hale is running towards him at full speed.

_Oh shit!,_ races through his mind. _My balls!_ is next. The dog has snapped. Scully will never forgive herself when she finds Mulder's body ripped apart on the floor.

George Hale tries to stop and slides into Mulder's legs before turning himself around and scrambling back to the ball of paper. He snatches the paper into his mouth and darts out of the room. His tail is wagging, and - as if he has been chasing paper for all of his life - he returns to drop the wet, crumpled ball of paper onto Mulder's lap.

Mulder's heart leaps with relief not just for his intact body. For the first time, he is seeing this dog without its usual quota of fear.

George Hale is standing, waiting for Mulder to throw the paper again. "_This _is what it takes to get you to loosen up?" Mulder asks, wiping his hands on his jeans.

He reaches over to pat him on the neck and - another first - the dog doesn't flinch. "Go get it," Mulder says and this time it is a good throw that lands halfway into the living room. The dog skids after it, his small frame bouncing in joy.

Mulder lobs a few more balls of paper his way and waits for George Hale to get bored. It doesn't happen. Twenty minutes later, Mulder's arm is sore and the dog keeps dropping the paper, stepping back and waiting for the next toss.

Mulder goes to the front porch and, for the first time, he looks at this property with an eye for possibilities. When he bought the place, he only cared that it was far enough away from the rest of the world.

"Damnit," Mulder sighs. They have so much space on this property but if he takes George Hale off the leash, the dog could run. And run. And Scully would kill him.

"Stay there," he tells George Hale through the screen door. "Uncle Spooky is going to try something."

And he makes up his mind. Today is the day. If George Hale, a frightened dog can do it, so can he.

With nerves the size of houses, he stalls time by looking for, and finding, his wallet. He finds and misplaces his driver's license three times. Then he has to find his jacket because it is still cold out there. By the time he has carefully done up his boot laces, the knot in his stomach sends him to the bathroom for ten minutes waiting for the worst which never comes.

He can see George Hale at the front window, bobbing up and down.

Mulder tries to ignore him as he slips into the truck.

He hasn't been in this thing for months. Probably close to a year. Scully has a point - he really _cannot _leave this property. The former psychologist in him tries to remember the ABCs of overcoming specific fears. He can only make it to A. For a moment, thinks of ordering the supplies but that would take at least two days to arrive and that's not fair to this animal who has taken so long already to find what's his. George Hale deserves more.

"Mulder, the fence is gone."

This is the first thing Scully says when she walks through the door at six-thirty that night. She hangs up her coat, puts her boots to the side and lands with the familiar bounce on the couch next to Mulder.

"Evening, Scully. Actually, it's still here. Just not where it was. Did you have a good day?"

"Peachy." She puts her feet up on the coffee table next to his. She doesn't know what he is up to and she is almost too tired to care. "Where did it go?"

He nods towards her satchel. "Did you bring them?"

Two sweaty hours later, sitting on the porch, and looking at his creation, Mulder had popped open a beer and remembered what he forgot to buy. He found the phone, dialed and left a voice mail. "Hey, Scully, it's me. I need you to bring home some tennis balls."

"Yes," Scully tells him. "What's going on?"

"Give me one."

Puzzled, she opens the bag and hands him one of three rubber balls. "This has something to do with George Hale, I take it?"

"You take correctly." He makes a clicking noise. "George Hale. Up."

Aiming carefully so that he doesn't hit Scully, he stretches his arm back and tosses the ball high into the air.

"What are you doing throwing that in here - what the hell is he - oh _my God_."

They watch in silent wonder as George Hale bolts from his sleeping place next to the stove and dives into the air for the ball. He misses the catch but snags the ball from the floor on the third bounce.

Scully's eyes are filling as George Hale dances over to them with the ball "Mulder, how – when…"

Mulder is beaming; the unthinkable has been done. He has earned this dog's trust.

Scully reaches over and takes the ball from George Hale's mouth. Even the slobber is a miracle. "Go get it, George Hale." She gently rolls the ball across the room and into the kitchen that she hates.

"I threw a crumpled piece of paper across the room and he came charging in after it. I thought I was dinner. Guess fetch is part of his repertoire. So, I drove to the hardware store and got enough materials so that he doesn't have to be on a leash when he's outside. The fence was long enough to use for one side of the run."

"You drove to the hardware store…"

"Yeah. There were a few things in the shed I used but most of what I needed – Scully, don't…. Don't make this … big. I don't know if I can do it again. I'm just running on fuel here."

"I'm not – I'm sorry." She is still smiling and she can't stop. Mulder went out, in the truck, to the hardware store so that he could build a run for the dog. George Hale has chased a ball and brought it back – to Mulder.

"And you built that run?"

"Nothing like a bit of manual labour to make my old lady all weepy."

She slaps her hand on Mulder's thigh and pushes herself up. "Let's go outside."

They spend the evening in Mulder's new creation, taking turns tossing ball for George Hale who is loving every second.

"What do you think they'd say at the bureau if they could see this?" Scully asks as her arm almost gives out. But the ball makes it into the sky anyway.

Mulder gives this some thought as he watches his brilliant dog leap and pluck the ball out of the air. "That Mister and Mrs. Spooky have finally gone over the edge and taken their dog, George Spooky Hale with them."

George Hale eventually tires himself out. By that time, it is too dark to even see the ball. But the stars are fresh, bright, clear. The sky behind is deep blue, magical blue.

Scully braves the question. "How… how was it leaving here?"

"It was …." He searches though his catalogue of suitable Mulder-comeback but can't. "Hard."

She slips her hand into his and squeezes it.

"I could stay out here all night," Scully says dreamily.

"Once frostbite kicks in, you might have to."

He pats his leg and calls for George Hale to join them on the way back to the house. The dog is careful and follows a few paces behind.

He is not there yet but, damn, he is getting closer.


	8. Chapter 8

George Hale: Chapter 8

* * *

Two mornings later, a terrible, frenzied sound comes out of nowhere and fills every corner in the house. Both their hearts stop and Mulder and Scully fly out of bed into auto pilot as they had learned to do every second on the road.

But this time is not the click of a door knob or shitty muffler or phone blaring in the middle of the night, when nobody is supposed to know where they are except for Skinner, who would only call with urgent information.

Their dog is barking.

Neither of them last more than ten seconds before they realize where they are and that sometimes a bark is just a bark.

"Old habits," Mulder sighs, slapping his hand over his now racing heart.

"At least we know our reflexes haven't slowed," Scully says and crawls back into bed. She drags every inch of covers over her shoulders while Mulder wrestles with a pair of track pants. The place is cold again. "Why is he barking?" She wants to know, closing her eyes and almost drifting off to sleep.

"Because he's a dog," Mulder politely answers.

"George Hale doesn't bark."

"Well, he's barking now.

The wailing gets louder, wilder. They can hear the dog scratching at the windows with those nails Scully keeps forgetting to cut.

"Something's got his attention." Mulder muses, trying to rub some light into their window framed with the new snow that fell. "Maybe he saw a snowflake."

She drops back down and pulls the pillows over her head again. "The heat's off again, isn't it?"

"Yup." Mulder jams his legs into his pajama bottoms, hopping into the second. "_Shit_."

"What?"

"I jumped on my sore foot."

A sigh from under the pillow. "Can you make it to the front door?" He can't tell if this is concern or sarcasm.

Freezing, Mulder sprints through the living room and tries to pry George Hale away from the front window.

There is a man at the bottom of the front steps, standing in the foot of snow. He is wearing a black hat, a black coat and looks like a terrified federal snowman.

"George Hale, Quiet," Mulder orders and climbs over him to get to the door. He turns around and points his finger sharply. "Stay."

The dog bounces off the couch and over to the door in one leap.

"Mulder, what is it?" Scully asks from the bedroom door as she ties up her dressing gown. "George Hale, shhh."

"You want to take him, Scully," Mulder says, holding the dog back by his collar. Scully takes the dog and pulls him back.

Mulder yanks open the front door and beams at their visitor. "Let me guess. Sell three more boxes of cookies and you win a bike." Then he steps back to let AD Skinner into the house.

"Sir!" Scully sings, trying to keep George Hale from making a B-line to Skinner.

"What the hell is that?" Skinner says, relatively sure he is safe from the killer dog. Scully has the arms of a bull when it comes to strength

"George Hale," Mulder replies over the anxious puffs of their dog.

"The astronomer?" Skinner demands

"No," Mulder explains patiently. "That's George _Ellery_ Hale. Our dog is George _Spooky_ Hale. Let him go now, Scully. He's okay."

As Scully lets go of the dog's collar, Mulder helps Skinner off with his snow covered coat. "It's a surprise to see you, Sir." _And so early_, he doesn't add. _On a Saturday morning._

"You know how long it takes to walk from the end of the driveway to the front door? Twenty minutes, Mulder. I thought I'd never get here."

"Why did you park so far away?"

"You looked out there?"

He hasn't. Leaning his body to the right, he looks past Skinner's shoulder and sees nothing but white.

"Let me take that, Sir," Scully says reaching for his coat.

"When did you get a dog?"

"A few months ago."

"Don't you already have a dog? A little one?"

Scully looks Mulder's way again. He steps back, embarrassed.

"That was Quequag," Scully explains. "He was eaten by an alligator."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that." He takes one step ahead and stops at the sight of George Hale. "Why is he staring at me like that?"

Mulder leans over to Scully and whispers, "Probably never seen a fully clothed man before."

"He's not used to new people," Scully says, trying not to smile.

Mulder puts them all out of their misery and leads Skinner towards the couch. "Have a seat, sir. We're just about to get some coffee. Maybe some breakfast."

Skinner, defrosting from his trek, smiles as if he has just been told he will live. "I would kill for both."

* * *

"Mulder, come and look at this" Scully whispers from the doorway of their bedroom,

Tucking in a t'shirt into his jeans, Mulder steps up behind her. "He's never done that before."

"I told you he'd come out of his shell."

"That dog picks his moments. And what is Skinner doing here?"

"Not sure." But she knows. Skinner is being the good friend he is. After his talk with Scully yesterday, he is here to quietly see for himself that both she and Mulder are okay.

George Hale is sitting up on the cushion next to Skinner, continuing his stare-a-thon.

"He hasn't budged," Scully brags.

George Hale has surprised them again. Twice in one morning and it isn't even eight thirty yet.

* * *

"I wish you two would get cell phones." Skinner remarks as they make their way through one of Mulder's deluxe breakfasts at the table.

Neither needs to tell Skinner that when it came to slimming down, traceable cell phones were the first to go.

The conversation drifts from general to the dog, to updates at the bureau, and the most recent rumours concerning Mulder and Scully. They enjoy hearing these the most. Mulder intends to commit each one of these rumours to paper one day and publish for the entire FBI to see with their own eyes. He will confirm which rumours are true, which are not and which are still up for grabs.

"Mulder, I assume Scully knows of the job offer?"

Neither mentions that it has only taken weeks for Mulder to tell her and even then it was because she pushed.

"What exactly is it?" Scully asks.

"On paper, it is a new division they want set up. For Cold Cases, that kind of thing."

"And off the page?"

"There's a paranormal element to these cases that they can't ignore but as you can imagine, they also don't want to advertise."

Mulder laughs quietly. "Me back at the bureau isn't advertisement enough?"

"True enough. But there are only a handful of people there who would recognize your name." He is being stared at by two doubters. "Fine, your reputation has outlasted you."

"How does Kersh feel about the idea?"

"He's the one who brought position to my attention."

Their jaws open slightly.

"You wouldn't report to him directly but there would be the occasional contact."

"Kersh?" Scully repeats, slow to filter this image through her mind.

"He figures he owes you one, so yes, he is making this overture. He also made it clear that if you wished to return to the bureau, Dana, there would be a position available."

"With me?" Mulder leans forward, hopefully.

Skinner wondered when this question would surface. "That's not been looked at yet. Scully, I assume you'd rather eat glass than return but the message is from Kersh that if you're interested, you will be welcomed back."

Mulder and Scully look like two nervous co-conspirators, plotting out the next ten steps before they take the first.

"Scully's been given some offers," Mulder blurts out.

"Mulder, not now," she whispers sharply.

Skinner is staring back and forth between them. "Do you think - are you considering …definitely … moving? Away from _here_?"

It is the first time that this possibility has become anything more than an idea floating in the wind. They look at each other again.

"I think so," Mulder drawls carefully, waiting for Scully's signal that '_Nothing Has Been Decided so please shut up'_. But there isn't one. He hadn't realized how big a moment this would become. They haven't made this kind of decision since they stopped running and bought this house.

"Yes," he says finally; definitively. "We are."

Weights float from Scully's shoulders. They are going back into the world.

_Oh shit_, Mulder tries not to think. They are going back into the world.

He never used to understand women who went on diets, did well and then agonized over whether or not to have the itty bitty chocolate bar they see at the checkout counter. But now he understands better than most. After all this time and effort, he might unravel all the progress he has made for himself, for Scully. He could lose himself after finally getting to see who he was without the X-Files and not hating it too much. What if that goes away. He only just pushed himself to drive into town, for crissakes.

"This job," Scully begins cautiously. "How much travel is involved?"

"Not as much as with the X-files."

"Field work?" asks Mulder.

"Also, not as much. You would have two or three Field Agents assigned to you on an ongoing basis."

A collective groan comes from Mulder and Scully.

"They would be your choice," corrects Skinner. "Nobody would be assigned to work with you without your approval."

"Unlike the last time," Scully remarks thoughtfully.

"Yeah," groans Mulder. "Look how _that_ turned out."

Scully hesitates at her next question. "What about - would he be required to carry a weapon?" She sees Mulder's head turn sharply. She looks at him. "I don't need to worry about you anymore than need to Mulder. I've almost lost you too many times."

"I could say the same thing."

"Yes, but none of my current job opportunities allow me to be armed."

"Oh," Skinner interrupts. "The job is also confirmed to be in DC after all."

Neither man notices Scully's face change.

"I thought you said it was out of state," Mulder says.

"That was the initial plan. Now, they want it to remain in DC."

"Kersh wants to keep an eye on the Prodigal Shit Disturber, does he?"

"_No,_ Mulder. It's not about you. It is a financial decision only."

"Sure." He jams the fork into a piece of bacon and twirls it in his fingers. "Do you think he is legit?"

"I do. There is a need for the position – there always has been since you both left – and I think Kersh would be glad to fill it without fanfare."

"It's a Pity Offer," Mulder informs them.

Scully sighs tensely across the table. Other than that, is silence. Only George Hale is making any sounds as he gnaws on one of his bones under the table. It is Skinner who brings up the obvious question he knows Scully won't. "Mulder – what do you think of going back to the bureau after everything that's happened?"

Mulder sits back with a shrug. "I can stand it if Kersh can. He's the one you should be asking."

"I'm asking _you_." Skinner nods at Scully, who can't look at either of them. "And you."

George Hale yawns loudly from the floor.

Mulder's fork scrapes the bottom of the plate.

"I want him to – I want us to get back to normal," Scully finally says, her voice catching. "But I wish it wasn't with the bureau."

"Because you don't think I can handle the job?"

She looks at him sharply. "Don't put words into my mouth, Mulder. I simply mean that … I don't want to see you going towards any more dark corners again. Not now, not after all we've been through. This is our chance."

"And you don't want me to screw it up."

She gives up and Skinner dives in. "Mulder, neither of us think you are going to screw anything up. And it's not a question of could you do this job, it's a question of _should_ you do this job. It's not you we're questioning; it's the job. The politics you'd find yourself surrounded by."

Skinner knows this is not going to be an easy battle for either of them. Or for him. But the thought of his two friends finally joining the real world again will make this easier. He will have enough to do helping them in the transition if Mulder does take the job. If necessary, he thinks, as he stands up to leave later that morning, he will even make doggie daycare arrangements.

* * *

Mulder and George Hale bundle up and walk Skinner down the long road to the car. The snow has finally stopped but it is high. It comes to George Hale's belly. He is not sure what to make of this, but for now, he will be a good sport and give it a try. The two humans walk behind him, talking in even voices. Mulder is not worried that today will be the day George Hale decides to bolt in a bid for freedom. With this amount of snow, he wouldn't make it four feet.

"You'll start answering your messages?" Skinner asks, burying his hands deep into his coat pockets.

"Yes, I will," Mulder promises. He won't try to start bullshitting Skinner at this point in life. "I appreciate your making the trip out here, Sir."

"Then make it worth my time and give a lot of thought to the FBI's offer, whether you take it or not."

"That's what Scully is going to say."

"She'll be right. It's time, Mulder."

Mulder can only nod.

"Hasn't he ever seen snow before?" Skinner points to George Hale, taking one leap after another off in the distance.

"No idea. He's a rescue."

They walk through the snow in silence. It is nice out here, Skinner thinks briefly. He isn't a country boy – neither is Mulder for that matter – but this isn't so bad.

"How are things in general?" Skinner asks awkwardly.

"I'm fine, Sir. Why? Did Scully say something?"

"Always suspicious. No, Mulder, this is me checking in on you both. How is that book going?"

"It's not."

"Have you told Scully about it?"

"No. I don't want her to know in case I can't finish it. I wanted to surprise her if I did. Perhaps show her I'm not the complete mess I think she thinks I am."

"You don't give her enough credit." Skinner pulls a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and hands it to Mulder. "I've had an idea - what do you think?"

Mulder unfolds the paper. A smile comes to his face. "It's a good one, Sir. If you can set it up I'll look after everything else." Curiously, he adds, "What made you think of this?"

There is something odd about Skinner's expression that Mulder can't read. "What?"

"Nothing." He nods at the paper. "She'll be pleased."

"I think so too," Mulder says, keeping an eye on George Hale. It's kind of sweet, he thinks, as it occurs to him that he and his dog have become a team. The second team he has been a part of since Scully came into his life.

And now, Mulder and his dog are walking their guest to the car. They have had a guest.

Life is moving fast.

.

* * *

_Ensure your dog has a wide exposure to humans, especially those with whom he will come into contact. Take your dog onto a bus, to a big city, a small park. Let him meet new people and new dogs. A socialized dog is a happy dog. Your rescue will always be safe as long as he is with you You & Your Rescue Dog_

"I didn't see that coming," Scully says when Mulder returns. He has shed his coat and boots and wandered into the kitchen, where Scully is washing the breakfast dishes. George Hale follows.

"I told you he offered me the job," he protests weakly.

Scully tosses him a dish towel and tries to hide her trembling hands. "That's not what I mean."

He picks a handful of forks from the drainer and drowns them in the towel as each one gets the treatment.

"So?" she begins.

God, why does she do this when he hasn't had the chance to process things first? He feels like an unarmed man. "So ….." he repeats with forced patience.

She tries to sound normal, disinterested even. "So it_ would_ be a Washington posting."

"So? Is that a problem?"

"I guess I hoped it was some place … different." She takes a safe deep breath and wonders when these things became so difficult. "There is something else I didn't tell you. I've also been offered a job at Washington Hospital Centre; heading up a research department."

Thud.

"When were you going to drop that little tidbit?"Mulder tries not to sigh too hard. He isn't in the mood for any more surprises.

"I wouldn't talk, Mulder. if Skinner hadn't called me, would you have told me any of this?"

"Probably no more than you would have told me about either of your offers. Look, I can take Skinner's offer if it makes your decision easier."

"I just think … we shouldn't make life changing decisions based on convenience. I don't know if I want that job. You don't know if you want the bureau's." But this is a lie because she does know; She knows that very much that she wants this job. She just doesn't want this city and all its memories.

Scully accidentally drops the frying pan into the emptying sink. It lands with a bang as soap bubbles and dishwater spirit out in different directions. "Sorry," she says, looking down at the water.

She literally throws the towel into the sink and leaves the room.

Mulder follows her over to the couch, where she is now sitting, dangerously pensive. "What?" He puts the towel and forks onto the coffee table and hovers over her with folded arms. "What is so difficult about this? I'm the one who doesn't want any sort of change, remember? Why is this suddenly so difficult for you?"

"I need to know what _you_ want, too."

"I told you. I want to go where you want to go. I'll make my decisions based on that. If you want a job in Timbuktu, I'll go happily. Same for Boston. Same for anywhere. If you want to go back to DC, I'll take the bureau job."

Another groan. He isn't getting it. Or, if he is, he doesn't know what the hell to do with this decision they have just made to rejoin the real world. When Mulder glanced at her, after Skinner asked the Big Question, she knew that, for one beautiful moment of symmetry, a brief whirlwind in time, they were both optimistic and knew if nothing else, they were ready to take that next step.

Then the moment ended, but the words had come out and there was no taking them back.

"If – if – we do end up in DC, lets at least try a new neighborhood that neither of us have lived in before," Scully says.

Mulder nods, confused, but willing to go along "Okay…" He knows he should be reading her much clearer by this point in life but something is blocking the Mulder-to-Scully radar. "I'm a little confused, Scully. What is your problem with DC? If nothing else, your mother lives there."

"No, she is still in San Diego and she's renting her house until she knows if she's coming back."

"Fine. If she doesn't, then we'll rent her house instead of a stranger until we find our own place."

"Jesus, Mulder, do you have the change of address cards ready? Nobody's confirmed anything yet."

"I don't get this, two minutes ago you were all for moving away from here."

Two minutes ago.

"Just not back where we started. I want … a change."

"That's it? You want a change? The living in a one bedroom car and then a crappy farmhouse hasn't been enough of a change?"

"I'm used to change, I grew up with it, you didn't."

His mouth, then eyes, then entire face scrunches into complete confusion. "You're basing our future together on our _childhoods_?"

"Don't be glib about this." She shakes her head and turns to look out the front window. Except for the trail left behind from two grown men and a curious dog, it is untouched, and is going to stay that way until it melts. It is a sea of white and when the sun comes out one of these days it will be almost impossible to look at from the glare. That something should be so dazzling to look at and be so difficult at the same time is unusually unfair she thinks. But that fact, in its various incarnations, has been the story of her life.

"What's wrong, Scully?"

When she turns around from the safety of the snow on the other side of this window, she sees Mulder still standing there, his arms still folded. Waiting.

"Nothing. Are you sure you want to go back to the bureau?"

"I don't know. I haven't given it enough thought." He clears his throat quietly. "But it sounds like you have."

"I just want to make sure that you are sure that the bureau is the best option for you, especially when you've been here for a year. Do you think that … do you think you are …. Ready?"

He stiffens. "And_ what_ constitutes 'ready'?"

Scully knows '_ready_' was a careless word to use. It overflows with accusations and doubt.

"_Well_?"

He isn't going to let her off the hook.

"It's been a hard year for you."

"And? You think I might suddenly panic in a budget meeting and end up hiding under Skinner's desk?"

"How do you know going back to the bureau won't set you back? Mulder, you were so caught up in your world there before everything changed. I am scared you could fall into that trap again, especially after being so isolated since moving here. You've only driven once since you built that run for George Hale."

"Thank you, I'd forgotten that."

"I don't mean to sound as if I doubt your progress."

"Really, because that's exactly how you sound." He jams his hands into his pockets and tries to take in a deep, steady breath. "I'm not sure of anything yet. But say I did take the job, it would be because I want to. And if I do, it is not forever and it would be on my terms. We'd get benefits, back pay, moving costs." He stares at her a moment longer. "But that isn't the reason for the look on your face."

_Please don't make me say it,_ she thinks. She does not want to go there today. Mulder will make the connection with Georgetown soon enough and until then, she has no intention of skirting around near dangerous subjects.

Mulder sits on the coffee table and tries not to notice the squeak in the wood. He expects it to collapse under him any moment. "We can go to Georgetown or Arlington or anywhere else we want. We can buy a house, a big roomy one, enough guest rooms for your mother, brothers, their kids. I suppose we could get a backyard tent for me when your big brother visits..."

He waits for the usual _Bill-Hates-Mulder_ smile that usually follows one of these off-hand remarks. There is nothing.

"Is that it, Scully? Buying a house with me? It's too domestic? I thought I'd be the one with that issue."

Scully sharply turns from the moisture on the window where she has been idly drawing circles. "You're the guy so you get to have the _domesticity _doubts? We've lived together the past year because we have wanted to, not because we had to. I know I want to live with you, as I assume you want to live with me."

"I'm going to hope that something other than the question of my feelings for you prompted that." Nothing. "Why did it take you this long to tell me about the DC offer?"

"I didn't want to get into it. Because of … this…." She waves her hand around the room in a grand gesture of deflection.

"This what?"

"This… conversation. It's one more detail when, honestly, I'm not sure either of us can handle one more detail right now."

"Speak for yourself, Scully. Despite what you're probably not admitting to yourself in the back of your mind, I'm not a total mental and emotional incompetent. I can handle this. "

"I didn't say you couldn't."

"No, actually, you pretty much implied it."

There is no further response from her and Mulder realizes this discussion ended a few paragraphs ago. He turns back to the kitchen.

The cold blanket comes over Scully suddenly and without any warning. For the rest of the weekend, Scully will keep to herself and feel like shit. Unexpected shit. Mulder shouldn't have mentioned Georgetown. Or maybe it was his obliviousness to this suggestion. All she knows is that the worst place she can be is DC and to have to tell Mulder this will open too many wounds.

Shit. She never wanted to feel this way. She has never wanted to feel so safe.

.

* * *

.


	9. Chapter 9

George Hale: Chapter 9

* * *

_"I am surprised at how simple it is to unload everything in my life onto a dog. I know he cannot understand my words but maybe my voice and all its tones provide him with the information I'm putting out there. I know he won't repeat my words to anybody, or that he won't worry about my emotional health and suggest I get help or at the very least, a life. I've told him about William, about Scully's decision, about our life on the run and as a respectable couple; about my surprise for Scully; George Hale knows as much of my life as I do. George Hale could write this damn book and give it a humanity I can't seem to manage. This was to be another surprise for Scully; an accomplishment which she could show to the world and announce, 'I'm with this man'. Right now I would settle for, 'I know this man'. I am contemplating terminating the contract I've made with the publishing company -FWM_

* * *

During a fifteen-minute lunch break in a day-long meeting, Scully finds herself being drawn into a conversation about pets. She doesn't usually join in on these because she doesn't feel she had anything in common with the general topics. The others in the meetings have regular lives and she doesn't. But now, stabbing the salad in front of her, she does. At least it takes her mind away from her problems with Mulder and the million or so insults she managed to direct his way. But he was getting too close and she needed him out of the way. This is her first full conversation since the breakdown in communication with Mulder on Saturday. Sunday he took George Hale for a long walk in the morning. She took the dog out for a long walk in the afternoon. The only one to sleep well that night was George Hale.

Curt, at the other end of the table, and dripping with restlessness, had piped up that the mysterious Dana had a new dog; a pit bull. Named after an astronomer. As annoying as this is - and Curt can be annoying - she likes hearing herself mentioned in this kind of context**; **something about her life that fits in with the others**.** Maybe it's a holdover from childhood, she thinks, when every relocation meant having to reintroduce herself.

One person asked about the dog. Another about his name. Another – an ardent cat lover – asked if he had bitten anybody yet. Scully had to disappoint her and say no. Someone asked if she had a photograph of him.

"In my office," she replies.

A few of them looked at Scully as if she was crazy. A few others looked at the one who asked the question as if she was insane too.

Astrid, the Human Recourses nurse pats her purse. "I keep my baby right here."

"Must be tough to breath," Curt observes.

"His _photograph_," she corrects.

"It's not a child, it's a dog," someone else added.

And that started the discussion of pets versus children and why pets were treated like a surrogate for the real thing. Scully brooded over this for the rest of the meeting with this question that had been lodged at the back of her mind. Is that what George Hale is to her? Is that why she brought George Hale into their lives? So he could replace an absent member of the family? No, she is not that much in self-denial that she could miss a sign like that. He is a dog, not a child. George Hale is about George Hale.

The meeting finally ends and the chairs are shoved back, books and brief cases close. Curt catches Scully's eye and makes a steering-wheel gesture with his hands. She nods and points in the direction of the parking lot. If they can arrange to leave at the same time, Curt will drive her home tonight on his way,. Scully's car is not working. He lives ten miles further from Scully.

It is dark by the time they go through the hospital's front doors. The sky is an eerie blue behind grey clouds but there is something innocent about it Scully thinks. Blue and grey are colours she has always liked together. Moody, hopeful. She's never been sure why she has been drawn to them but she is.

"You going to Stilens retirement party on Friday?" Curt asks, taking the front steps two at a time. All-day meetings leave him unusually restless.

"No," she tells him rolling her eyes and making her usual cautions descent, one step at a time.

"Still regretting not following up on that job?"

"No. Nothing stop you from going to the party."

"Doing my hair."

They both hate Stilens. Stilens hates everybody.

Scully thinks she hears her name being called from far away but it is too dark to see deep into the parking lot.

"Most drivers just hold up signs with your name on them." Curt is pointing towards a pickup truck by the entrance. A man and dog are standing in front of the passenger door. The man's hands are tucked deep into his jean pockets. Around his left wrist is a leash, and a few feet from the leash is a pit-bull trying to contain his excitement.

"Hey, Scully," Mulder repeats, this time with a wave.

"Mulder?" If Mulder didn't have a strange grin on his face her first instinct would be to assume something is wrong.

But instead, she is so moved and relieved by the sight of this man - her man - and her dog here to pick her up, take her home, to claim her as their own. And to do this, he has driven his truck into town. The first time he left the property was for George Hale; now for her. And she knows what it has cost him to do this.

Curt looks at Scully deliciously. "Your boyfriend calls you by your _last_ name?"

"It's an old – never mind. Did you want to meet him?"

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this for the world," he says salaciously and follows Scully across the icy parking lot.

Mulder can see the smile on Scully's face grow and grow as she gets closer. He is only slightly concerned about the tall, dark man following her; the man whose sports car she was about to get into; whose name she has probably mentioned a million times. All he can see is Scully trying not to give into an onset of tears and pride. For all the anxiety it took to get into the truck, her face right now will make him do it over and over again if that is what it takes to see that joy.

"Hi." Awkwardly, Mulder leans down to kiss her cheek.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

"Uh… Picking you up. Sorry, I should have called."

Once he had George Hale in the truck, Mulder had gone back and forth to the phone five times with the intention of calling her. But each time he didn't because he was scared that once he committed, he wouldn't be able to go through with it. It took him twenty minutes to leave the property.

"No – that's. Never mind." She crouches down to greet her other admirer. "Hi, Sweetie." George Hale is bouncing up and down for her attention without letting his feet leave the ground. She stands back up again because there is an awkward job to be done. She has not introduced Mulder to anyone since George Hale and she will always remember the look of dread on his face. "Fox Mulder," she says, tossing in an apologetic smile. "This is Curt Fraser."

She steps back as the two men step in and shake hands. "Heard a lot about you," Curt spits out. At the look on worry on Mulder's face, he adds, "Okay, nothing. I've heard nothing about you from Dana except that you may or may not exist. Dana doesn't gossip nearly as much as she should."

"No, I leave that for you. And Dinky."

"Real name is Bob," Curt explains. "Goes by Dinky because basically he's a dink." Curt takes a look at the mystery man in front of him. "So, Dana, this is your fellow? Your _boyfriend_ – your beau – your para-"

"My Fox_,_" she corrects, knowing Curt can – and will - go on forever. He can be a thesaurus if he thinks it will make someone – her, in this case - writhe in discomfort.

"And this guy …" Curt crouches down and wrestles the delirious George Hale onto his back for a belly rub while Mulder carefully catches Scully's uncomfortable eye. "Hey, he's a beauty," Curt gushes from below. "You're a handsome dude, arn'cha? You look bigger than your picture, that's for sure." He glances up and says to Mulder, "Actually, so do you,"

Another puzzled look floats from Mulder to Scully. She hadn't mentioned that there was also now a photo of him and George Hale on her desk. It's not as much of an oversight as it is strategy. She isn't sure how he would like knowing his likeness is on display, well out of his reach. She wonders if his face had ever graced someone's desk before. Or if her own face had.

Curt finally stands up before his knees give. "You're a hee-man, Georgie boy. Bet you got your mom and dad eating outa the palm of your … paw."

Scully and Mulder avoid the other's eye.

"What is it about an animal that turns adults into babies and animals into children," Curt muses. "Guess we're all just so damn cute. Listen, good to meet you … Mulder? Fox? Does everyone in your immediate family call you by your last name?"

"Even his parents," Scully assures him.

"Lucky stiff. My parents called me Cuddles until I was twenty-five. Hey, congratulations on your job offer."

Mulder's eyes dart to Scully's.

She pauses for an uncomfortable moment and spits out, "I mentioned it."

Curt opens his arms wide and for a moment, they think he is going in to lay a hug on Mulder. But he by-passes the two humans and dives for one final play with George Hale. "You are so cute," he gushes, "Yes you are. Oh, _yesyouare_."

"Curt, you're embarrassing yourself," Scully informs him in a nice sort of way.

He laughs. "I don't care. See you tomorrow, Dana. Evening, Fox."

George Hale, broken hearted as newest friend strolls away, remembers his oldest friends are still here and the love-in resumes.

"Mulder," Scully says quietly, loving this man for everything he is and isn't.

He opens the passenger door for her. "It's not a big deal, Scully."

After Saturday's outburst, they both know it is a very big deal and she can leave it at that for now. Mulder waits until George Hale has hopped in after Scully and closes the door.

"So," he says, starting up the engine. "Interesting guy."

"Curt? He can be."

"Anything I should worry about?

"Yes." She waits for the reaction she wants and gets it. "No, Mulder. He's very happily married. Besides, I think he's more interested in George Hale than in me. But thank you for your concern."

"Any time," he says, pulling out of the icy driveway.

They hear is a car horn and Curt speeds by in his sports car, waving to the dog.

"See?" Scully says.

"He always drive like that?"

"No. He's showing off. He's a careful driver, Mulder. But again, thank you for your concern."

"Any time," he repeats. He checks his rearview mirror long enough to get the nerve to ask, "Do you really have a picture of me on your desk?"

"Yes. The one of you and George Hale on the couch that I took last month. And I've got one of George Hale." She saves the hidden photo for last. "And one of us."

He is obviously not ready for that yet. Come to think of it, neither is she. Family photographs on display in any kind of manner are for domesticated people – normal people. Rule #29 in the land of Moose and Squirrel states that you don't put up photographs of loved ones once wanted by the FBI because that usually draws attention. Nor do you put up photographs of your loved one when neither you, nor your loved one, has ever done such a thing before.

There is a truck and a bus both trying to turn on the same light. Mulder has to maneuver carefully to avoid either of them. A tense sigh slips out of his mouth that Scully puts down to his return to driving.

But she realizes this is wrong when Mulder asks pointedly, "What else did you tell him about us?"

Damn Curt and his big, well intentioned mouth for not realizing that Rule #1 in the world of Moose and Squirrel is that you do_ not_ talk about Moose and Squirrel to anybody, especially to Moose and Squirrel.

"Nothing, Mulder, I'm sorry I even mentioned it to him."

"What else does he know?"

She turns to him sharply. "In what respect?"

"Us. Our past two years. The bureau. Important details like those."

"Mulder, don't be so paranoid. I would no more break that rule than you would."

"Does he know about _your_ job offers?"

Guilty, she nods.

"_Both_ of them?"

"Yes."

This stings worse than the possibility that she could have told Curt about their 'past two years. "Are you _serious_, Scully? You don't even know this guy. You don't tell people like that… What else does he know about me? Shit, this is why I hate-"

He'd like to go on but he can't. There are too many items in this list of _This is Why I Hate_ to even begin.

"Why, Mulder? Because you think we are still some mystery that needs to be cracked or because you just love your Mulder anonymity; the aliases, the pen names that mystique you created for yourself over the years."

He stares ahead, concentrating on the traffic. "How long has he known about your offers?"

"For a while," she sighs,

"So why the hell did you tell him before you told me?"

So now they are getting down to it. More modern domesticity creeps closer. Mulder doesn't like her trusting anyone but the Holy Trinity of _Mulder, Mother and Skinner_.

"I hate to break this to you, Mulder, but you are not the poster boy for objectivity. Especially where this is concerned. I wish I had told you about them but I was just as confused as you were about yours. And we both needed someone objective to bounce these things off of."

"So you have to go to a total stranger?"

"Curt is a stranger to _you_, not to me. I trust him and consider him a friend. Friends? Remember those? Conversations with someone other than each other or the dog. Don't you miss that, Mulder? Talking technology with the boys; talking shop with Chuck."

He snorts. "Maybe Curt could be my friend."

"You could do a lot worse."

"What about you? I don't see you gabbing on the phone, making lunch plans with the girls."

"I lost contact with my friends when I started working with you."

Now they are treading on dangerous ground. _Those Days_.

"Nice," Mulder says. "I take a lot of blame for the many things that have happened to you over the years, but I didn't know that I was responsible for your lack of social life, too."

"We're not doing this," Scully says. "I've never blamed you for anything, and if I did, I wouldn't start with my lack of social life."

The truth is, she never had many close friends before she joined the X-Files. She was as much a private person as Mulder; she just kept the status quo of no friends where he has abandoned the few he had.

"Everything that happened… then - that was my choice, just like everything we did together was my choice. Damnit, Mulder, how many times do I have to tell this to you?"

A million wouldn't cover it.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, when they should have been home and tucked in bed, they are still driving. The main road is slippery. Mulder had driven in enough bad weather delivering furniture as a teenager to know that you don't tempt fate. You let the weather tell you how fast to go.

It was a low blow, her telling something about him to a stranger. She should have known better. She, who is dozing next to him, her head against the window, mouth slightly open. He would like to ask again what else she has told Curt about him; his family. Did she tell him how he spent the better part of a year trapped in a house in front of a computer? How he and she ran for a year from the very organization they worked for? His favourite brand of underwear?

_What else – _he would like to know –_ did she tell him about me._

As he slows down to wait for a train, he glances over and watches her sleep. She looks tired these days and he keeps meaning to ask her about it. He would like her to take some time away from work and they could go away, stay home, whatever she wants to do. He knows what date is coming and maybe this is where the ambush after Skinner's visit came from.

If she has remembered it, she isn't giving any clues. And if she hasn't, maybe getting out of here for a week wouldn't be such a bad idea.

George Hale is huddled between them, studying the end of his tail. He is busy.

Mulder gently moves a strand of hair away from her face. Scully stirs and Mulder realizes he has done this without even realizing it. He has always reached over to her when she sleeps, as if there is some way to tap into that peace she seems to be floating within.

"Hey," he whispers softly. "Go back to sleep."

Scully sits up, feeling very stiff and stunned. "No, I'm up." She looks out the window. There is nothing to see but darkness. "Where are we?"

"About two miles from home. Try and sleep, Scully. By the time we get there, you'll just have to get up for work again."

She tries to adjust the seatbelt but George Hale is sitting on the clasp. "I might call in tomorrow," she yawns.

The train finally passes and Mulder crosses the tracks. Rural He hesitates before asking. She can be worse than he is when it comes to what they have both always considered private matters. "You feeling okay these days?"

She looks around as if she wants to know from where this mystery question just popped out. "Fine. Why?"

"Just asking. You've been working long hours. You seem a little … tired."

_Tired; a_ safe word. _Sick_ would have him defending his right to live.

"This from the man who, until five years ago, didn't have a bed because he didn't need to sleep. Yes, Mulder, I'm fine. I'm tired now because it's been a long day in an eight hour meeting."

"Eight hours?"

"One PowerPoint after the other. Lunch was interesting. Curt decided to announce to the group that I had a pit-bull."

Mulder smiles. He can imagine the joy in Scully to be singled out, whether it was about something interesting or not. "You must have relished the moment."

"No. But you do find out a lot about people when they begin to talk about their pets."

"Future Cat Ladies?"

"Not so much that – you just see them in a different light. You suddenly find out the person you think is a complete asshole used to rescue homeless cats. People you think are made of stone suddenly produce pictures of their dogs from their wallets. And everyone last one of them …." She stops herself from telling him that every last one of them considers their animal to be their baby.

She can't do it. Mulder would understand, he would know what to say and what not to say. But not now. It will hurt too much.

"Let me guess. _Their _dog is the best of its breed."

"Something like that," she smiles weakly and turns her head back toward the window and the darkness. "Mulder – about DC –``

He sighs loudly. "I don't want to get into that now -"

"No. Just listen – I – we should look into it – those jobs. I was being irrational."

"You're many things, Scully, but never irrational."

"We need to talk to some people –beyond Curt, Skinner and George Hale - and make sure these are jobs we both want ."

He looks at her from the corner of his eye to make sure there is no pie in her hand. "Okay," he agrees evenly. "I think so too."

"Okay, then."

They drive in silence.

"I know you think I should have had enough of DC to last a life time of terrible memories," Mulder offers.

Scully nods. This is an understatement. "It's not like those were easy days for you, Mulder. So much was happening to you, professionally, personally. Your life splitting into so many pieces while you looked for answers to why it broke in the first place. You lost your mother, your father – your sister all over again – your whole family."

He is looking at her as if she is an idiot.

"What?" she says and wonders what wrong thing she has just said.

"I had _you_," he explains obviously. "_You_ were my family."

He is always this mystery, who hides little gems like this and takes her by surprise by placing them gently into her hand. She has never decided where she fit into his life during those days; occasionally it was a given, often a mystery. Always an honour. "What - first cousin?"

"Nah, more like a fourth cousin. The kind you can fool around with." He has made her laugh. A triumph. "So tell me, Scully. You don't mind your hermit boyfriend - who goes by his last name and has a killer dog, who happens to be afraid of cats - coming to pick you up sometimes?"

"I like showing him off. Maybe sometime he'll come inside and meet a few more people."

"One miracle at a time, Scully. It took an act of God to get me to drive into that parking lot."

"I know it did," she tells him, squeezing his hand. She knows a lot about small acts of bravery and the costs they can have.

* * *

.


	10. Chapter Ten

George Hale: Chapter 10

* * *

_Dogs have no sense of time except for the immediate. Now is their everything. They don't know yesterday, last week or last year. They don't have the kind of recall that humans do. dogs don't possess memories of actual events but of the emotions, senses which these events can evoke. If a dog is mistreated by a short, round man with a mustache this dog may always be fearful of people fitting this description. They may not remember the day, month or year of the event, but often the feelings which the trauma caused will remain. - You & Your Rescue Dog_

* * *

Mulder leans back in his chair as far as the springs will go and flings the cardboard calendar that sits on the corner of the desk against the wall. It's the cheap kind of calendar, the kind that turns into a triangle if you put edge A into slot B. Mulder would like to hide the all the calendars the way he hid a note from a teacher about Fox's bad behaviour after a mock debate between him and another fourteen-year-old. Mulder kept that note to himself for a week before he found the nerve to rip it into tiny pieces and get on with his life.

He flips open the laptop lid.

_'Two years might as well be twenty and it might as well come in the disguise of yesterday. The son I didn't know, except for a few days of fatherhood, and when the memories approach, feelings turn into pain and I never know what to do except be there for Scully. I seem to be able to hold on until I know her pain has ebbed as much as it can. At least at the hospital, for all its challenges, she is at work in a busy job, where nobody really knows who she is, where she has been, what at she has seen, what she has given up. t is easy to contain that hurt there. But this year is worse because I haven't seen any signs from her yet. She hasn't made a gesture or used a tone of voice that lets me know how she is doing. Her work has been busy. Twice in the last month she has had to stay over at the hospital instead of making the trip home and then back. I have wondered if this might be a clue but I don't think so. - FWM_

George Hale circles under Mulder's desk until he has found a comfortable spot on the old sleeping bag that Mulder put down for him. He is good company, this dog, even when he is out cold and chasing bunnies in his sleep.

"That baby had changed everything," Mulder sighs.

The truth, the lies - they all fell away from the front of the door and were replaced, even if just for a moment, by this miracle who belonged not just to her, but to both of them. The tiny fingers, the slight jerky movements, the wide eyes trying to see it all at once; and the trust.

This was the only thing that mattered and even though he only knew this little baby for a matter of days, Mulder had fallen in love with him, and even deeper with this baby's mother.

"Christ!" He whacks a mug of cold coffee with his hand and watches it fly across the room and slam into the wall. There is a split second where he could swear he sees the broken glass, mixed with the drops of coffee hang in the air as if they are looking for a place to settle.

The mug misses the rug and crashes to the floor.

There is a noise under the desk.

"Sorry," Mulder apologizes absently.

He knows what is coming on, that ache and he is not going to sit in this room and take it. He shoves the chair back and heads for the door. George Hale gets there before he does.

"No, George Hale, you just went and I need to get the hell out of…shit. Fine." He yanks the leash from the hook and snaps it on to the collar in record time.

He and the dog are out the door before he can change his mind.

Mulder didn't bring a coat, his gloves or a hat and it is getting damned cold. He has been walking for two hours and he is freezing, angry at life and willing to walk another two hours if that's what it takes to feel nothing. These rural roads go on forever. Some of them cross with others and to Mulder's memory he has taken at least four of them. But now it is dark, George Hale is tiring and they are both hungry and very lost.

In the distance - and it is hard to be a judge of distance out here – he hears sirens. It reminds him of DC. Sirens are all you could hear some days. Police, Fire, Ambulance, Car alarms; he doesn't miss any of them until right now. Wherever they are coming from, Mulder would pay a million dollars to be there pretending he was back in the big city, living his old life, before William, before Scully even, when he was the only one he had to worry about.

"Fox?"

He hasn't noticed a familiar sports car slow to a crawl a few feet away. The driver's window rolls down. Curt's head appears.

Mulder spares him a look and tries to keep walking, tugging the dog along. It feels as though the leash has frozen itself onto his hand.

Curt inches alongside him. "Get in."

"We can walk."

"Not likely. You're about ten miles from your place."

Mulder keeps going.

Curt gently swerves the car in front of them.

"Out of my way," Mulder growls.

"Would you like to try and make me?"

When George Hale sees who is driving, he bolts from Mulder and bounces over to his friend. Curt leans out the window. "GeorgieBaby, how's it hanging! Oh, whosagoodboy. _whosagoodboy_" George Hale is on his back feet, at eye level with Curt and it isn't clear if he is happier to see another friend or the fact that he may not have to keep walking with the Silent One.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Curt asks, keeping a hand on the dog's bouncing head. He nods towards the passenger seat. "Get in, Fox. I'm serious."

"Take George Hale. I need to walk."

"No, you need to shut up and get in the car."

_Fuck_.

Wordlessly, Mulder shuffles around to the passenger door and lets himself in. George Hale has bounced through the window, onto Curt's lap and lands on Mulder's. He tries to get the dog to sit by his feet but this sports car is no pick-up and there is no room by Mulder's feet.

"Aw, he's good there," Curt says. "Just hold on to him tight – he's _m'_boy."

For some reason, this is what tips Mulder over the edge. "No," he spits out. "George Hale is a dog, not a boy and he is my dog, not yours. He is a dog-boy at best. But he is _not_ a boy."

He expects a dead silence to follow this outburst. Instead, Curt whistles as if he's just seen a home run from a blind elk. "Okay, message received." Curt carefully eases back onto the road. "So what the hell are you two doing this far from home?"

"Nothing," Mulder replies, trying not to shake from the cold.

"Christ, you are having a good day, aren't you? No coat, no nothing. And Georgie-Boy needs something on him. Your body temperature is higher than his. Dana's going to love this."

Mulder's head turns sharply. "Don't tell her."

He must sound as desperate as he is because Curt takes a sideways look at him and nods. "Is everything okay, Fox? I could call you, 'Mulder' if that would make this easier."

"Everything is fine."

"Listen, I'm going to the hospital – why don't you come in, say hi to Dana. She can use a break and you can use some heat."

"She's still there?"

"Yep. A bus went over on some ice. They're calling everybody in."

The sirens.

"Can you drive us home?"

"Sure, that's not a problem."

By the time Curt stops in front of Mulder and Scully's house, his moral code is doing gymnastics over whether or not he should tell Dana about this. Her boyfriend is not behaving normally, not even for a man who made his parents call him by his last name. He should see that Mulder gets himself – and this beloved dog – into the house safely but Mulder would most likely tell him to go to hell. In which case, Curt _could_ tell Dana about the meeting under the pretense that her boyfriend was mean to him.

"Thanks." Mulder's hand is on the door handle.

"No problem. Stay warm."

Mulder turns halfway. It takes everything he has to ask "How … how does Scully – Dana seem these days?"

"Same. Nothing different."

Mulder nods and opens the door. He is about to say something else but changes his mind. He climbs out and waits for George Hale to follow.

Curt's voice cuts in. "I don't suppose I could use your little boys room for a second."

Mulder nods. It's the best he can do right now.

Curt darts past him into the house, wondering if he can suddenly have to pee when he doesn't actually have to.

And Mulder, not caring that there is a near-total stranger in his house, finds a blanket and throws it on top of his cold dog with a slight apology.

Then he sits at the table and leans forward, head in hands, and wishes everything would stop.

During the next half hour or so, Mulder is dimly aware of someone in the kitchen trying to find the filter for the coffee machine; cleaning a mug he found in the sink; feeding the dog, then taking the dog out for a pee while the coffee maker goes full throttle. Mulder can smell coffee brewing and hear the comfort of someone talking in an even, sane voice about absolutely nothing.

When Mulder lifts his head from his hands and opens his eyes, he is alone. A mug of hot coffee is beside his elbow. A sweater is folded and on the table next to it. Finally, and this is what catches his attention, he sees a business card, with the hospital logo lying on top of the sweater. On the card, there is a note in blue, tiny almost legible handwriting that says, 'C_all if u need n-e thing – C. _followed by a phone number.

It will be hard to dislike this guy from now on and Mulder isn't sure he should try. Anyone who looks after George Hale while George Hale's owner is zoned out in grief is acceptable in Mulder's books.

The answering machine is flashing four times. Two messages are from Scully, an hour apart. Shit. She will know he was out. The first message tells him that she is going to be staying at the hospital that night. The second message is a repeat of the first, but this time, she asks him not to forget George Hale's early morning walk, the shift she usually takes. Neither message left any sign that she was upset about anything more than dealing with the casualties at the hospital and worrying about George Hale's pee schedule.

The third message is from Skinner. Mulder's insides tighten because he knows Skinner wants an update on Mulder's decision about returning to the bureau. The anxiety disappears when he hears Skinner confirm the details of their surprise for Scully. Twice, he pauses to ask Mulder if he is there and if so, to please pick up.

The fourth message is from the publisher. They would like to know when they can expect a draft of a chapter from the book. Mulder would like to know the same thing.

Part of his walk was taken up with a nervous rant to George Hale about why he made this book deal and what was he thinking and what the hell were they expecting; and that every chapter he wrote sounded like another dry, ordinary paranormal detail. When he first wrote them, centuries ago, the reports were detailed and complete. Now they lack any kind of life and he was stupid enough to think he might be able to refer to the ones he was able to keep. But in the sobering warmth of his home, Mulder is realizing this isn't going to get better and these people are not going to get what they have pre-paid him for. And if they do, it will be a piece of shit.

He hasn't written anything for the book for a while. Instead, he has been pouring his problems out to an anonymous computer who will neither judge him or ask when the first draft will be ready. He has been writing for his own peace of mind because he knows his own mind; he doesn't, it appears, know anything about anything else.

Today is the deadline. It is also the anniversary of the day Scully said goodbye to William.

* * *

In the kitchen, Mulder feeds George Hale. "She's not going to be home tonight," he says and sits down on the chair and leans forward. He is still cold and probably won't stop shivering until next June. Meanwhile, his equally shaking dog is wolfing down a cup of wet and dry mix like there is no tomorrow.

Mulder reaches for the phone on the table. He presses #1 on the pad and waits. He gets her voice mail and drags his hand tiredly through his hair as he leaves what he hopes is a coherent message. "Hi it's me – got your message – messages – I'll get him out early. Let me know if you need me to do anything – I'll be … um …. here" He rolls his eyes. Where the fuck else will he be. "Have a … I don't know what I'm saying . Tired. Just … call me, okay?"

With that slurred message, he reaches over and puts the receiver back. He's too tired to hit redial and try again.

"I'm going to sleep," he mumbles, while George Hale continues to inhale the meal he's been given and doesn't notice when the Other One wanders out of the kitchen.

Mulder turns off the lights and drops onto the couch. If sleep is going to find him tonight, it will have to look for him here.

He lies in the dark, staring at the ceiling, which he can barely see but knows is there. He thinks about the anniversary, the book, the dog, the partner; how the fear of the dog is as vivid and real as the human's fear of the past or the future, and why dogs are the lucky quantity because all they know is the present. They don't remember children disappearing, years of searching, finding the one who was in front of you all along and watching them slip away; saving people who can't be saved or taking one baby step at a time to get out of where you are. Watching people you love miss people they have had to lose. Keeping secrets from yourself so well that even you don't remember they are there anymore. Thinking you have lost everything when you had nothing to lose in the first place.

And what will William know of his first parents, his mother and father if he is even told about them? He will never know who they were, what they went through together and apart and how much they love him – not unless a fifteen-year-old William wanders around a bookstore one day, randomly picks up a book from the discount bin - where there are 200 other copies of the same book – opens the book, reads bits and pieces and he knows. He just _knows_.

Suddenly, the words are there, so are the memories, even some of the harder ones, and Mulder knows what he has to do.

He will write this book for his son and he will tell him everything.

.

* * *

The phone wakes him from a dream about paper clips. Mulder has fallen asleep at his desk, his arms folded on top of his laptop. It is daylight as he pops out of his sleep and grabs the phone before he knows he is actually doing it.

"Yeah- hello…" He clears his throat so even he can understand what he's saying.

There is a pause. "…Mulder?"

"Scully?"

"Yes – I'm sorry, did I – I woke you, didn't I?"

She sounds like she has a cold.

"No-yes –" He sits up and tries to pull himself together. "No – I nodded off at the computer – never mind – where are you?"

"At the hospital. In my office."

He can hear strange catches of breath from her. "You okay, Scully?"

She isn't. She tries to talk coherently but she is crying and trying to stop is only making it worse.

"Scully—"

"I was – scrubbing from – a couple of people were arguing about what the date is …." Mulder can barely make out most of what she is saying, except for three words. "…it was _yesterday_."

William.

His heart wants to break in a million pieces so that hers doesn't have to.

"I c-can't believe I could forget -"

"Scully – listen to me … are you there?" He waits until he hears what he hopes is a yes. "I'm coming to pick you up."

"No – don't – I'm fine, I just …can't stop crying." She says this as if it is the sort of thing that should be happening to _other _people.

He does the mental math of how long it would take him to get the truck to the hospital with new snow just daring cars to go any faster but he doesn't want her staying in that place for any longer than she has to.

The business card on the table is all but yelling at him, duh, duh. And the reason it's here takes shape.

"Listen," he says, stretching the phone cord as far as it will go so that he can pick up the card between two fingers from the table. "Can you stay where you are, I've got an idea."

"Oh, Christ, Mulder." she sobs again. She cannot take any more surprises; she has just landed on one of the worst possible ones.

"Trust me, Scully."

He thinks he can hear a soft laugh in her pain and this makes him feel better.

He hangs up and dials the first of two contact numbers on the card. "It's Mulder ...fine - _Fox_ – I need you to do me another favour."

* * *

The car doesn't make a sound until it is halfway down the drive. Mulder is on the porch, dressed this time and only wearing socks to cover his feet. By the time the car pulls up in front of the house, his hand is already on the passenger door handle.

Curt steps out of the driver's side and calls over the hood of the car. "Hey, how's my buddy?"

For a horrible second, Mulder thinks Curt is talking about him. "He's inside. I don't want him …" Disturbing the grieving mother, he would like to say.

The passenger door opens and Scully emerges looking like a person who has worked for forty eight hours and then remembered she had forgotten about her only son and the last time she held him.

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says tightly, almost daring him to say anything. "Thanks for the ride, Curt."

"No problem. Hope you're feeling better, kiddo."

With one arm protectively around Scully, Mulder turns and mouths the words, "Thank you," to him.

Inside, Mulder closes the door behind them and removes her coat. While he drops it on the nearest chair, she blankly sits down on the couch, leans forward and begins sobbing so hard she doesn't think she will ever stop.

There isn't much she will remember about these hours but there are little moments that will never disappear. Mulder flying off the front porch to open her car door; sinking into the cushion as Mulder lands next to her, and how his long arms, both of them, folded tightly around her shoulders. Mulder helping her to her feet from the couch and walking her into their bedroom; how he pulled back the sheets and helped her slip under the covers, still wearing her hospital scrubs; how his hand only left her shoulder long enough for him to climb over her - not walk around the bed as he usually does - and lie next to her until she has cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Eleven-thirty. Sun is cracking through the clouds. It bounces off the snow and sends shards of light into the bedroom. The morning drifts back to her as if she is a patient coming out of anesthesia. Life has continued with her but she doesn't know how she managed to stay on except that the man she shares her life with broke one of his own rules about asking for help so that he could bring her home.

Before she opens her eyes, she thinks she is waking up in her own bed in Georgetown. One of her pillows is lying behind her. An extra blanket is lying across her back and hangs off her shoulder. There is a strong sense that she is in a safe place and that she is home again.

But it isn't an old blanket over Scully's back and she isn't in her old apartment in Georgetown. The pillow behind her is Mulder, and the bed is in a small farmhouse in the country. The extra blanket turns out to be Mulder's arm draped across her back. Scully opens her eyes and sees his hand dangling from her shoulder. George Hale is curled into a near perfect ball directly below her, half under the bed where he is safe, the other half where she will step and let him know she is awake She watches the sun light splattering the far wall with white and yellow light. As broken as she feels from this horror, she knows she is safe.

She is careful to slip out from Mulder's arm and quietly sit up. George Hale scrambles to his feet out of his sleep, his loud nails clicking code for YOU'RE HERE on the wood floor.

Scully nuzzles her head into his and tells him she loves him. She has never said this to him, this dog. She knows how much she loves him; that is a no brainer. But this new step in her relationship with this dog takes even her by surprise.

With George Hale on her heels, she goes to the bathroom wearing the same scrubs she has worn for the past forty-eight hours. These scrubs will end up in the garbage bin; she will pay for them if she has to but she never wants to see them again. The thought of washing them, ironing and folding, leaving by her purse to return to the hospital makes the memories of this morning – of William – come flooding back in her heart. The tears will hold off a few moments longer until she is safely in the shower where nobody can hear her cry.

Not even the dog who has positioned himself to be the next bathmat if he doesn't move quickly enough when the water shuts off. Another thing Scully will remember of this time is that, for the next few days that follow, George Hale will never leave her side.

"Scully?"

Mulder's scratchy voice barely makes it from the bed where he is slowly coming to life. He rolls onto his side and sees two sets of feet coming back into the bedroom.

"I'm here," she tells him, like a student hearing roll call and finally realizing it's her name being called.

"How are you?"

"I'm okay." Scully pushes the sheets over and lies down beside him, face to face. "You look beat, though,"

He is exhausted and doesn't remember why right away. But she is here, and wearing an old white dressing gown he hasn't seen in years. And she is home.

"Slept on the couch last night. Made me feel like I was back in DC, wishing I had a bed. Or, at the very least, someone to share a couch with."

"As if either of us could have obliged."

bubbleWhy didn`t we? Asks with the poor memory of only someone who was so long from that time.

Why _were_ we so careful?

Because we had too much to lose.

Ah, the world of Moose & Squirrel slips into view unspoken Rule #8 - you protect your relationship with your partner as well as you protect your partner. Rule #9 fed directly off #8: Propriety . You protect the relationship by never crossing the line, should that possibility occur. Behind their iron shields, only occasionally got to close to the line.

She reaches over and puts her hand around his neck. "You're cold."

No more so than any man who spent two hours in freezing weather, then stayed up most of the night, worrying about his partner _and typing like a mad man at his computer before he lost any of his nerve, memory or momentum._

He closes his eyes and, with a sleepy smile, tries to edge his way closer to her. "Getting warmer."

"Mulder …." She waits until he opens his eyes again, until she has his attention. "Mulder – Thank you … for.. thank you for bringing me home."

"I know it wasn't easy, letting him do that for you."

She shrugs, her eyes beginning to sting because she is close to crying again. "Not really." Scully tilts her forehead against his so he doesn't see her eyes fill. "What did you tell him when you called?"

"That you weren't feeling well. Flu-like symptoms. I knew by the time he got to your office, you would look like I described." Mulder puts a finger to her chin. "Promise you'll take some time off, Scully. I know being busy this week was a way to cope but … you can't do this to yourself again. We're better off going through this together. It hurts too much to be alone where he is concerned."

He's never said anything like this before. They think it, they act on it – but to ask her to face some corner of her darkness with him – he's never been able to put that into words before. She wishes she knows where he gets the courage.

*some point, have him say, why didn't you say something? in his usual accusatory voice

"Yes," she says, nodding before this word is even out. "I think so too."

They lie facing each other for a few simple moments. She can't tell by the dreamy look on his face if he is frisky or about to slip into sleep again. There will always be time for both, she thinks to herself, and eases herself off the bed.

"Where're you going?" he asks without lifting his head There is a serene smile on his face, with closed eyes and a contentment about him she doesn't see very often.

"I'm going to take George Hale for a walk."

"Hold on, I'll come too."

She drags a blanket from the floor and spreads it over his long body. "No. You stay. I just want … I need to get some air."

Get some air. Codefor _I need to be alone_ without hurting anyone's feelings.

Mulder can hear her change, the sounds he knows so well. He knows she is ready to head outside when her footsteps turn into boot steps. The ruffle of her winter coat. And the skittering sounds of happy feet about to be reunited with the great outdoors.

"Good boy," he hears her coo from outside. He must have brought back one of his toys, Mulder thinks, as her voice fade into the distance, still talking to George Hale. They both natter away at the dog when they take him out now. He is a skinny bundle of energy who is happy to hear anything they have to say.

And Mulder is almost certain George Hale can understand the words when he hears Scully hesitate and then ask the dog, "Did you know we had a son…."

* * *

.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

_Things are not back to normal yet, peace is still elusive but the chaos has left. Scully arranged for time away from work with an understanding supervisor who had watched the stress nearly overtake her. When demons catch up and explode inside, it takes time to put them into perspective. We don't talk much but we've spent most of the week together. We sit together, sleep together, eat together, take the dog for walks together and share a healthy silence together. It reminds me of our days at the bureau during car rides, stakeouts, and the unusual easy silence we could afford ourselves and each other. Even in those early days, I remember realizing that regardless of what I went through, or what would be my future, that this woman next to me would be the most important relationship in my life. _

_So I will wait for her cues during the week and try not to let her know I am watching her for any sign of trouble. She won't tell me if she isn't all right but she slipped out of my eye line a few days ago and I am not going to let that happen again. As for me, I am trying to write my words and thoughts down in this still-hatching plan and keep my optimism level up for her. We have both taken steps closer to the empty space that he left behind and it is not esay to -_

"_easy". _ Mulder backspaces enough times to retype the word. He isn't content enough these days to let the spellcheck find and fix the errors. He wants to get to them first, and leave spell check with nothing to do except say, _the spelling and grammar check is complete, you brilliant speller, you._

He is at another impasse, a blank. But this is okay. These don't scare him anymore, he knows the words will come; there is still so much to get out. And the more he writes and pours his heart out, the more clearly he sees those years for the mountains they were. If Scully had not entered his life, what would he have become? If William had never entered - then left - their lives, would they be whole? Questions like these have been developing themselves into clear, full sentences on the screen of Mulder's laptop. He isn't there yet but he is on to something. He can leap from between blankly pouring things out that he does and doesn't want to say for his son. He occasionally checking notes for accuracy and, when he can't find a specific date or location, he reminds himself that this isn't being written for publishers and their lawyers, but for a boy somewhere in the world who will read this someday. The publisher can take it or leave it.

"Scully, do you remember that day when we went back to the bureau for the missing agent case?"

They are lying on the couch. Mulder's feet are next to her head and hers are by his shoulder. He is poking away at the laptop, lying on his stomach; his shoulders are buried into two very soft pillows. This way, he can edit a chapter, sink into a nap and not skip a beat. Scully is pouring through a journal on the human genome. The couch is barely wide enough for two bodies to fit snugly but they make it work. If their feet don't start to offend, they can read this way for hours. On the long road they have traveled together, they've learned – metaphorically and literally - when and how to give the other enough space.

She finishes the sentence she is reading and looks up at him. He has a strange look on his face. "Mmm?"

"That first day we went back - I saw the office," he says quietly, as if it is a magic secret and he doesn't know yet if the spell has worked for or against him.

Her book drops onto her stomach. "When?"

"You were off with Skinner somewhere. I asked Holly for the key. She didn't want to give it to me at first."

_You don't want to see it, Agent Mulder. It's just another room now. Nobody uses it._

Which, of course intrigued him all the more.

Scully sits up a little, her back against the arm of the couch. "So… what was it like?"

He absently takes one her feet in his hands and begins kneading it. Usually, this is a gesture that turns her into jelly. All it does now is raise her curiosity. "There… there was … old office equipment. Fax machines piled high. The back area - that was a graveyard for the chairs. It was …" He tries to choose the right word without giving too much of himself away. "Strange. Not what I expected."

He was so quiet on the way back from DC. Scully thought it was because of the general strangeness of returning to that building; being asked for his expertise instead of his badge. Now, his silence makes sense.

"I'm not sure what was funnier; the fact that the powers wanted to erase the memory of us or that we'd been replaced by broken fax machines."

"Holly said that since we had entered the building she had heard three different rumours concerning our apprehension, our surrender and if we had had sex yet." Scully knew he would like the last one. Bets for that question had been going on for years. They never did hear whowon the pool_. _

"People are always going to remember us that way, Scully. Social pariahs, chasing extraterrestrial beings, whether they existed or not. That's our legacy there after nine years of giving ourselves, our lives - Mr. and Mrs. Spooky."

"I can live with that." she shrugs.

He will always wish she will never have to again.

"Whatcha reading?" he asks.

"New research on -"

"Stop reading about work, Scully." He leans forward and grabs the book from her and lets it drop to the floor. "This is your time, not theirs. Whatever happened to those Harlequin romances all you girls like so much. Or maybe a good mystery."

"Like the mystery of what you're working on? I've been hearing a lot more clicking of keyboard in there. Anything good?" She misreads the strange expression on his face. "How can writing a five-thousand page article have you looking like that?"

He hasn't told her that there is no article. He didn't want to before because he didn't even know what he was doing. Now, it's because he doesn't want to jinx the streak of words he seems to be having. "I'm working on a new project." He has been full of optimistic doubt but he has stuck with it.

"You have me intrigued, Mulder. When do I get to see this new project?"

"When it's done. In the meantime…." He tilts his head past Scully to see where if their chaperone is in sight. He is sleeping by the front door. "Let Uncle Mulder tell you a story about this crazy doctor-agent-pathologist who fell in love with this utterly sane mysterious, paranoid Agent Dog Trainer."

She likes where this is going. Mulder in a playful mood is a marvelous thing. "Go on."

He flips the laptop cover closed and puts it on the floor. "Well, seems they liked to do certain things in any room they wanted until this dog came into their lives; then, they could only do it when the dog was out of the room or sound asleep because he gets insanely curious until he gets insultingly bored and leaves."

"Any room in the house, huh?

"Oh, yes." Mulder gets up and hoists Scully over his shoulder and carries her to the bedroom. The phone rings just as they get to the door.

"Let the machine get it," Scully laughs from upside down.

But he is feeling confident right now, with the love of his life slung over his shoulder. Confident enough to consider answering the telephone.

Until the machine's tape snaps to life.

They are the only people left on the planet who have these old things again, tape and all. They are probably also the only two tech-savvy people to regress in terms of technology. Now they are down to a few Bic pens and a thick pad of paper by the phone. Both their mothers would be proud.

The voice of Walter Skinner asks if they are there and to please pick up. Every voice mail he leaves now begins with this automatic request.

"… this is short notice but someone from real estate has found some locations - houses - you might want to investigate. The problem is that these are properties that will be snapped up. I know neither of you have made any decisions on possible career moves but I think it would be a good idea to come to DC for a day or two and just see what's available, whether one of you returns to the bureau or not. It's twelve thirty-three. Please call me by six o'clock tonight and let me know if you can come to town for a couple of days. The bureau will cover all of your costs."

The message finishes. The tape hisses for a moment and then stops.

Mulder all but drops Scully on the bed and then lands next to her. At the same time, they both whisper the only frightened word they know. "_Shit_."

As both of them think about what this phone message means, the silence grows louder.

"Well?" Scully asks, looking at him for some kind of sign. She has been hoping for – and now fearing - this day for a very long time. Where Mulder fits in these two extremes is still a mystery.

He looks up. "I guess … we could look. Have they spoken to you any more about the Washington General job?"

She sighs tightly. "Nothing has changed. It's mine if I want it."

"And do you want it?"

"Yes," she admits quietly. It is the job she wants. Just as quickly, she asks, "What do we do with George Hale if we go overnight?"

"That's your worry? What to do with the dog?"

"Mulder, don't start. I'm just as confused by this as you are! But, I think we should go. It's just for a day or so. It might be good for us to see what DC feels like after all of this time."

But Mulder knows what it will feel like. It will feel creepy. They will be towed around the town by Skinner and some pushy real estate agent named Barb and everywhere they go people will recognize them and point and stare and say, '_There go the Spookys; I thought they'd be floating around in outer space by now'_.

That's what it will feel like.

"I'll call Curt, to see if he can take George Hale overnight."

Mulder's face drops again. "Leave him with someone else?"

"We can't take him with us. And it's good that he get some exposure to other people and places if we're going to move him to a city."

Mulder hates this thought. He suddenly doesn't want to move or leave their dog with anybody. "Fine. Call Curt." He looks up from his hands. "What are you going to tell him?"

"That we're former FBI agents who have been on the run but all is forgiven so we're being lured back to the big city with promises of sugar plum fairies dancing over our heads." When Mulder doesn't bite, she gives up. "Mulder, the FBI wants to pay for us to come to town. Even if we don't make any decisions, we can still make a mini-vacation out of it. I'll book us a very expensive hotel suite; we can have an expensive dinner; a Jacuzzi."

His eyes lift from where they staring hopelessly at the floor. "We like Jacuzzis."

"Big canopy bed."

His eyebrows slowly rise. "Maybe."

"And no George Hale. We can leave the bedroom door open _all_ night."

He nods. Reluctant agreement made. "Fine. But just remember, this doesn't make me easy."

"Of course not," Scully says kindly as she leans forward and swings the bedroom door closed with her foot. "Just cheap."

* * *

"Buddy!"

"Sweet Jesus," Mulder groans under his breath.

They have just arrived at Curt's doorstep. It's a big, wide house on a tree-lined street with lights and cars and many other signs of human occupation.

Inside the doorway, Curt has George Hale in his arms before he can get the second syllable of bud_-dy_ out of his mouth.

"I guess he's glad to see you," Scully politely understates.

"Ehyabiglugg_ggggg_. Okayletsseewhatchagot." Curt gently places the dog back onto solid ground. George Hale bounces within the confines of the leash Scully holds, even though she could let go and the dog wouldn't run away. But she will hold it for as long as she can. He's still my dog, she thinks unkindly.

And the dog is so deliriously happy to be in the centre of his three person world that he doesn't know which way to land.

Curt waves them into the house. "Come on in, have some coffee. Charlene should be back in fifteen or so. She's going to love Georgie boy. I've told her all about him."

Mulder stands there with George Hale's bed and dog food in his arms. Clearly, he is just the delivery man here.

He and Scully don't dare look at each other; they know what the other one is thinking. They are thinking, 'What the hell are they doing? Leaving their dog so that they can go and resume their lives in a city that owes them everything and wants to give them nothing.

"No, thanks," Scully says, still clutching that leash. "We've got to get going. Thanks for taking care of him. We'll be back tomorrow evening, seven at the latest."

Mulder leans over and looks into the house. The living room and dining room is smattered with children of various ages. A few of them look up, mildly interested at the dog. Two teenage boys stop their homework when they see Scully. A toddler in a time-out thinks twice about size when he sees Mulder.

"Kids – this is George Hale. Remember the rules, no chasing, no teasing, no feeding…" Curt looks at one little girl who has a dangerously pensive look on her face. "_No_ dressing him up in Aunt Vera's underwear." Curt turns back to his guests. "Oh, we've got a nineteen-year-old cat but he should be okay."

"Oh, George Hale won't bother the cat, he's af-" Scully doesn't finish the phrase, 'afraid of cats' because Mulder shoots her a fast, pleading look. Please don't mention the pit bull is afraid of cats. Our pitbull. Our _boy_ pitbull.

Curt laughs. "No, I mean, Georgie Boy will be okay. Poindexter will mind his _P_s and _Q_s."

_Poindexter_? Mulder repeats to himself. Maybe Fox wasn't such a bad moniker after all. Poindexter Mulder. Shit, he wouldn't have made it out of kindergarten alive.

"Here, let me get that." Curt leans forward and takes the dog bed and food from Mulder's arms and drops them onto the foyer tile. "You guys don't worry, he'll be great here."

The three of them stand in a moment of silence. For Curt, unusually awkward silence. These two have him puzzled. Then he remembers this is their first dog. He wonders what they'd be like leaving a real human kid with them. Nah, he thinks, he'd rather have their dog.

"Well," Scully says slowly. "I guess that's that." She hands him a piece of paper. "Here's the hotel we're at tonight and the other number you can use tomorrow if you need anything."

"What vet is he with, just in case there is an emergency?"

They look at each other. They haven't taken him to a vet yet. The only issue more awkward than this comes next.

"Whose name is he under?" Typical Curt. He misses nothing. But is another reasonable question – George Hale is their first shared property. Scully's name is the obvious choice. The house is under Mulder's name, all bills come to him. The new house will be under both their names.

"Mine," Scully answers quickly. Mulder can have the next dog.

Mulder extends his hand before this gets any harder. "Thanks Curt, we appreciate it."

"Yes," Scully nods and smiles. "Thanks."

More silence until she hears Mulder say her name. She looks up at him. He nods towards her hand. "The leash?"

She still has it wrapped tightly around her wrist. "Oh. Right. Sorry."

"You guys have fun," Curt says, taking the leash reverently. He glances over his shoulder. George Hale's tail is only slightly between his legs. Scully sees this too and for a moment, her heart swells with pride. This was the same frightened dog she met, she thinks – and look how he has changed. And she did that. She and Mulder.

Mulder's elbow digs into her shoulder. "Let's go, Scully. He won't even notice we're gone."

As the door closes behind them, and they stand there on the front porch, Mudler and Scully realize they are well and truly alone. It is cold out and, with hands jammed deep into their coat pockets, they break out in a sprint towards the curb and their car.

"Poindexter," Mulder mumbles, the cold air pouring out of his mouth. "Who the hell names their cat Poindexter?"

"Don't throw stones, Fox. We have a dog named George Spooky Hale."

"And you were going to tell him our dog is afraid of cats," he hisses into her ear as they step over a pile of snow someone dumped by the curb.

Scully pulls open the passenger door and climbs inside. "So _what_?" She closes door behind her and hooks up seat belt. The car is suddenly, terribly empty in a not-so-devastating way. Only the blanket on the back seat reminds them there was a dog in here.

Mulder jams himself into the driver's seat and slams his door shut. "Christ, I can't believe we're doing this."

"We can change our minds if you want," she says

"What part?"

"All of it?" She tries for a smile but it isn't easy. Scully stares at the fingers of her gloves resting on her lap. She knows that he is waiting for some kind of sign of life from her. She wishes she had said something sooner. "There's something I didn't tell you – when I spoke to Skinner to make the arrangements yesterday…"

Mulder loosens his grip on the key in the ignition.

"He asked – he wanted an idea of what neighborhoods' we wanted to see – I told him anywhere but Georgetown."

She should have told Mulder this yesterday when it wasn't Important. You keep something small to yourself and by the next day, it has become Important. She knows Mulder doesn't have any sentimental feelings towards Georgetown but she damn well doesn't want a puzzled look if the agent suggests it and Scully shoots him down with a bang.

"I know, Scully," he tells her quietly. "I don't either."

"Okay," she says, business closed. "Let's go."

Mulder starts the car and wonders how much this took to say. She will never tell him. He can see already she has begun to put on the armor, piece by piece.

* * *

"Why is he doing this?" Mulder hisses into Scully's ear. They are standing in line to be admitted through the security turnstiles at the FBI main entrance. "We could have just as well met him at a coffee shop."

"Apparently not," she sighs tensely.

Scully, leading the way, takes her turn through the security. On autopilot, she empties her pockets of metal objects into the appropriate tray. One guard waves a wand up and down while the other checks her name on The List against her ID. There is a sudden look he gives her as if her name means something. His eyes drift past her shoulder to Mulder. The his name means something too.

Scully looks at the younger guards and wonders how long they have worked here. Did they ever hear stories about Mulder? About her? The one checking the ID must have. Did they know this lobby before somebody took a new interior designer to it?

"Ma'am…"

One of the guards is looking at her, waiting. She is holding up the line. She can hear Mulder breath in and out.

"Sorry," she says, coming out of her dreamland. She moves ahead and waits for Mulder and watches the rest of the people in this world move through their day. Everyone else seems younger, slicker. Most of them are dressed above and beyond, they walk quickly; their heads bowed as they type madly into the palms of their hands. Time has moved way ahead of them, she realizes. They don't stand a chance of catching up.

Coming through the main corridor to the elevators is strange. Two people from their early days turned their heads in surprise at the sight of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully following AD Skinner into the elevator.

"…thought they were dead," quietly follows them just before the doors close.

The elevator slides upwards to the usual floor with its usual speed. Mulder puts his hand over hers and squeezes tightly. They will get through this, he wants to tell her, even though he doesn't have a clue how.

Skinner, leading the charge, doesn't hear the comment or see the reaction it leaves on his former agents.

Five minutes later, they are in Skinner's office. It is the same office he had all of those years ago. The secretary is different. Mulder wonders what happened to Kimberly and will ask Skinner when there is an awkward moment of silence to kill.

He and Scully are sitting at the conference table in the far corner of the office. He is glad they are not in their former usual seats of choice, in front of his desk, waiting for the usual load of tirades, explanations, excuses – all of them his. But this feels right now, sitting across from Skinner at table, with Scully to his right. There is an empty chair next to Skinner's elbow. The real estate agent he guesses.

The secretary comes in with coffee. Mulder catches Scully's eye. He could get used to this.

"Where'd you stay last night?" Skinner asks, pouring some sugar into his cup.

"St. Regis," Mulder answers, almost proudly. He can see the numbers adding up in Skinner's brain and wonders what creative writing course he is going to have to take to write-off this one. "Nice room service. Great champagne."

"Mulder," Scully warns in a tense, tired voice.

Skinner isn't biting. "Told you, Mulder, charge up whatever you want. The Bureau is paying for anything that might entice you to return."

"Maybe you could tell us a little more about the job while we're waiting," Scully suggests, before Mulder's bravado takes over.

"I was hoping we could meet with …"

_Don't say it_, both former agents are thinking.

"….Kersh later today."

Mulder sits back as if he's been slapped. "I thought the job didn't report to him."

"It doesn't. I wanted you to simply - - -"

The secretary appears at the door with a man behind her. By the look of joy at the fresh meat at the table, it is clear he is the real estate agent.

Ambrose Johnston introduces himself and drops into a chair across from Skinner. He immediately dives into his pitch while Skinner sits back and tries to relax. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction from Mulder at the mention of Kersh's name. He doesn't realize how much resentment is still waiting to fade.

"… estate, former safe houses, properties no longer under criminal investigation. Plus some up and coming places. I know them all." Ambrose finishes and looks back and forth at his new clients. "So… what are your ideas. Where would you like to start?"

"Start?" Scully repeats.

"Start. You know - as in the first place we see. What's your neighbourhood of choice? Walt says you didn't want to check out Georgetown, but there's some nice real estate just waiting to be -"

Mulder feels Scully twitch, and he wants to hop across the table to drill his fist down Ambrose's throat for reminding his terrified friend that there is a bogyman out there she needs to avoid during this trip.

"Mulder," Skinner warns.

Ambrose looks back and forth between them. Mulder's angry eyes are fixed on him; Skinners's eyes are warning Mulder's. And Scully's eyes have dropped down to the table.

Skinner's telephone goes off like a bomb. He hops across the room and answers the phone on the second ring. "I told you I wasn't taking any call –" Puzzled, he slowly holds the receiver towards Scully. "Someone wants to know if you want to hear George Hale snore."

"The astronomer?" Ambrose asks curiously.

"No," Skinner snaps, "The dog."

Mulder's eyes widen. "You gave him Skinner's number?"

"Only for an emergency." Scully says firmly as she shoves her chair back. "Stop looking at me like that Mulder. It was the only contact number I had."

Scully grabs the phone from Skinner and turns her back to the others. "Hi Curt – No, now's not a very good – Hi, George Hale…" Her voice lowers to whisper. "Okay. All right. Thanks, Curt. See you tonight."

She quietly places the receiver back onto the cradle and turns around. Skinner is looking at her as if she is crazy. Ambrose, his arms folded pensively, is trying to piece together the nature of this phone call.

And Mulder is trying to hide a smirk. He may have done a lot of embarrassing things in his life, but he has never taken a call from a dog over the phone during an FBI meeting before.

And suddenly, Scully smiles back at him. Curt and George Hale's snoring have just turned her and Mulder from freakish and ancient relics into two people who own a dog that snores, who is staying with a grown man who wants to share this discovery with them. Curt, bless his timing they will owe him forever for this one.

"Let's start with Virginia," Mulder decides and hops to his feet.

* * *

_We bought a house today. Our first house. It wasn't planned. Neither of us have even spoken to the bank about arrangements we would need to make. The point of today was to make it out alive. Which we did. And then we bought a house. Ambrose Johnston didn't turn out to be such a dick after all. And Skinner, he knew what he was doing by insisting that Scully and I meet him at the bureau. He knew we'd be better off getting the worst over with first. And it was the worst part. And we were better off. We saw about fifteen places in three hours. By the time we hit the last one in Arlington, my old stomping ground no less, Scully and I had both declared loudly that 'we'd learned a lot about Real Estate in DC, we had a lot more to learn and that we both needed to take some time to make some decisions about our future careers.' So when we got out of the car at the last place, we were ready to nod politely and go home. Until Scully stopped suddenly at the end of the front walk and just stared ahead at the house in front of her. I nearly bumped into her and Skinner and Ambrose almost took one off me._

_The house was nice enough. Old style. Front porch. Wooden steps – important to Scully – but nothing special until I saw the look on Scully's face. This was her house. Ambrose unlocked the front door and meandered around the mail floor with Skinner while we wandered around the empty house. He must have seen the quiet, cautious excitement on Scully's face because, for the first time, he let us loose without his usual door- to- floor commentary. I think it had been a safe house at one point; Ambrose was a little fuzzy about this detail. I will double check with Skinner. Every time we would walk into a new room, I could hear Scully sigh – as if she didn't dare risk a shred of hope. I knew this was a done deal. She was home. _

_The back yard, she said, was perfect for George Hale. The kitchen was open, painted white and held more sunshine than any room I'd seen. Upstairs knocked her socks off – we both walked into the Master Bedroom and our eyes met and I didn't even need to make a crack about the King size bed we'd need to fill the space. There are two other bedrooms and one more bathroom on the second floor and these bedrooms are blank canvasses with potential to become anything we want them to be. _

"Well?" Ambrose asks as they saunter down the stairs, hand-in-hand like the twenty-year-old newlyweds they feel like.

Mulder looks Mr. Real Estate dead in the eye and says only, "We want it."

"Really? Just like that?" Turns out they are Fresh Meat after all.

"Just like that."

"After a home inspection," Skinner jumps in.

You can see poor Ambrose ache to tell him to shut up so the Fresh Meat can sign the papers but he gives into his conscience and says, yes, a home inspection would be a wise idea.

"Oh, we'll have that done," Mulder assures him. "And since the house belongs to the government, I'm sure whatever needs to be fixed, re-hauled, re placed, painted will be done to accommodate our move."

Scully's head turns sharply at this as they both realize what he has done.

"Mulder," she begins to whisper.

He knows what she wanted to say; that she would forgo this house to stop him from making a decision he may or may not regret for the rest of his life. And he would simply tell her that if the decision to return to the FBI makes this house possible, then the decision was made the moment she laid eyes on this place.

* * *

.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The hospital is growing into a political spider web just waiting for its next victim to wander in, looking for the bathroom. One of the committees on which Scully sits is losing its momentum. And it is only nine-thirty. Today one of the members stood up and told the group that they could all go and fuck themselves if they thought any changes to administration procedures were going to help the hospital. Then he picked up a baloney sandwich from the catering tray and sauntered out of the room.

That's the kind of thing Mulder would have done in his heyday, Scully thought. Maybe without the reach around for the sandwich, but it was close.

"Can we call this meeting for the day?" Curt has shoved his chair back and is now standing. "Ray pretty much summed this thing up and I have a shitload of work to do."

Scully and a few others could kiss him for this. Trust Curt to put broken sentiments into full sentences.

The leader of this committee, a bureaucrat through and through, shakes her head. She knows when she is beat. "Fine. Whatever. We'll regroup next week at this time."

"Jee-_zus_," Curt groans as he tosses his head back to the ceiling. "I get more done cutting my toenails."

He holds the door and follows Scully into the hallway. The rest of the meeting members slowly follow them. "So you sorry you're not going to be around for the fallout of all of this?"

"Ummm …. no."

Two interns looking very late for rounds dart down the hallway between them. Only one of them calls, 'sorry' over his shoulder.

Curt steps out of their way. "Can't believe you're going to take my Georgie away from me."

"Curt has it occurred to you that you could find your own Georgie if you go to the shelter? There will be a dog who needs you, especially if you dote on him the way you do on George Hale."

Curt's face is a study in discovery as they reach the elevator bank. He stabs the 'Up' button for him and the down button for her. He looks down at her. "You know, that never occurred to me."

This gets a mysterious smile from Scully.

"What?"

"I was just thinking that getting a dog didn't occur to me until a few hours before I walked into the shelter."

"Going to miss you, Dana. You and your other half are definitely the …. " He thinks carefully on this next word because it's got to be right. "The strangest couple I've met."

" 'Strange'. Oh, well, thank you, Curt."

The elevator doors open and as she waits for the others to pile out,

"_Good_ strange. For instance, you and your boyfriend-"

"He's not my boyfriend –"

"We'll get into _that_ discussion at another time. No, there's something you're keeping all to yourselves. I can't put my finger on it but I will. I've already eliminated the Witness Protection Program. You don't look the type. But I am thinking Government."

She tries to sound disinterested. "Government?"

"Dana, you can fool some of the idiots here most of the time but you can't fool me. I've seen that photograph of you and Mulder dressed in white-collar duds, hidden from view on your desk. His haircut and your clothes both suggest something government related."

She sighs. "Then how did you see if it was so well hidden?"

"Didn't say it was_ that_ well hidden. So you two go way back. How far back?"

"None of your business. We met at work. That's all you need to know. Don't worry about my family, Curt," she says and presses the button to his floor and then hers. "Worry about your next George Hale. Seriously, go and get a dog. There's one for you just as there was one for us."

The elevator stops at the fourth floor. "Best thing you ever did?" Curt asks.

Scully nods. "One of them. Thanks for getting us out of the meeting."

"Horror show is more like it." Just as the elevator door closes, he calls to Scully, **"**George Hale the scientist did amazing things. Your George Hale does more."

Tucked in between shoulders higher than hers, Scully smiles uncomfortably at the attention. But, she thinks to herself, he is right.

She will tell Mulder this sometime but he has probably figured it out already.

_You will wake up one morning, go about your usual routines; routines that do and don't include your dog; you will suddenly realize that you are at the place you only hoped for. You realize that you have solutions for problems that will crop up because you realize that you are capable. (You & Your Rescue Dog)_

Life has taken on a new meaning in this household. They are now Planners - planning for a new home, planning for themselves and each other, planning for their dog. Planning, they have found, is the best way to take the next step and not fall flat on your ass.

* * *

One morning, after a late night of packing, Mulder oversleeps by two hours. He is not as young as he thinks he is, he must constantly remind himself these days. Perhaps he was never as young as he thought he was and he's been living on placebo energy for the last twenty five years of his life.

It is George Hale's nose nudging his elbow that finally brings him to life.

Mulder tries to nudge the offending muzzle out of his face. He rolls over to get a glimpse of the time. It is almost ten-thirty and he's got to be on the road by twelve o'clock this afternoon. He'll bring George Hale with him; get him more exposure to the outside world. An airport will scare the hell out of him but that will have to go under 'that's life'.

_Woof_.

George Hale means business. Mulder whines as he drags the covers back and swings his feet onto the cold wood floor. The new house will be better. No more cold floors. They have decided to have the bathroom floor heated. Mulder could hear the Contractor's eyes roll when he told him of the newest development but he didn't care. Sometimes, grown men need warm floors in the morning.

While the dog makes his rounds outside, Mulder drops into the old wicker rocker on the porch with a hot mug of coffee. It is nice to sit out here sometimes. On a morning like this, the sky is clear, the breeze floating across, whistling through a few trees. This is what it's about.

"You know what, George Hale," he calls over to the dog.

George Hale looks over.

"I'm not going to sell this place."

George Hale, realizing there is no food involved in this plan, continues his sniffing.

"I'm going to keep it as a weekend place. I can build a pond in the back. Fill it with fish, a few frogs. Build a dock. Scully and I can sit there at the end of the day, having a beer, watching the sun go down."

Mulder stretches his legs onto the porch railing and puts his hands behind his head to enjoy this brainstorm. He smiles like the contented man he is at this moment. "I won't bring it up with Scully until she asks what I'm doing with the house. She's been a little on edge with this move so I'll wait a few years."

Mulder is used to cottages, summer retreats that were always in the same place year after year. Scully never had this growing up so she doesn't miss it. But Mulder does. He dearly wants a place to call the other home, the kind that once gave him a sense of family.

During one of their recent arguments, Scully suggested that maybe he wanted to hold on to this house so he would have a plan B in case things didn't work out in DC. A place to hide when life and all its inherent miseries became too much.

Mulder had given this some thought this over for a moment and shrugged. "Isn't that what cottages are for?"

She hated it when he pulled these out of his hat. "Yes," she returned, "but those are usually near bodies of water that are more than the three feet of puddles around this place."

"Relaxation is not about maintaining the norm, it is about… ."

She let him go on and on until he started to bore himself and the discussion about cottages was laid to rest.

So, this morning, Mulder is feeling confident about the possibilities about what Scully will and won't agree to. The night before, she made a remark that rocked his world.

"_Maybe this time I'll let you carry me over the threshold_," she had promised when they were going through the logistics of moving day at the table, pen and paper in hand.

The Falls of Arcadia. Undercover as Husband and Wife. Pretending to move into a new house. He had whined flippantly that she hadn't let him carry her over the threshold; she responded with a don't-mess-with-me glare. She had been unusually sharp with him on that case – still stinging from his behavior towards an old flame who, he would have admitted, wooed him with unwavering support in his quest while Scully and her rational questioning were shoved out the door. He knew he had been an asshole. Apparently, she knew it too. She wouldn't give him an inch in the Falls of Arcadia; last night's remark gave him a yard. It was nice.

A truck turns off the main road and starts down the long path to the house. Mulder can make out the UPS letters under a shitload of mud. Delivery men are iffy about coming to the rural boonies. Either they don't give a shit about how their truck looks or they give too much of a shit.

Mulder stays where he is, sitting like the grand old man on the porch while the driver mumbles something about 'morning' and hauls a heavy looking box out of the back.

Mulder usually recognizes one or two of the drivers but he doesn't know this one. The other drivers all know Mulder as the hermit, in an old pair of track pants and a tee shirt that says, 'Medicate Me', who can't stop his on-line shopping habit.

"Sign here and it's all yours," the driver says, dropping the box on the bottom step.

"No door to door?" Mulder asks, scribbling his name and handing back the clipboard.

"Not today, buddy. This one's heavy. And I need to be in Virginia in two hours."

The time. Mulder peers at the man's watch. It is later than he thinks and he needs to move now.

He waits for the truck to disappear from his sight. Then he tentatively wanders down the steps to have a look at the box. He hasn't ordered anything in a week so either he has signed for someone else's crap or he is ordering things in his sleep.

Mulder picks up the box and takes it inside, with George Hale on his heels. It is so heavy that it almost falls to the table from his arms before he can move his other crap away. George Hale's wet nose is getting in the way. Mulder cuts through the mountain of packing tape at the top of the box and yanks the lid with all his might. He stumbles backwards as piles of files slide down to the floor in all directions.

They are old folders from his office that managed to slip their way out of the building and into the Lone Gunman's care. When Skinner first brought the book deal to his attention, Mulder had asked him to see if they could send some files to refresh his memory.

He pours through each one with a realization that he is looking at photographs of long, lost relatives; relatives, he now realizes, he never wants to see again. There are many gruesome files, photographs that are worse. Some have to do with the government, some with human anomalies, most riddled with evil.

All of the colour folders were coded appropriately. Wine for blood red; murder cases. Yellow folders for Government. Green for Alien Sightings. Purple were for files he had to keep but never wanted to see again because they were the ones that hurt the most. Family. His. Scully's. He can see the edge of a purple file, sticking out at the bottom of the box.

The memory of William's little fingers jumps to the front of his mind, and Mulder knows he will never be able to use anything from this box or any other parts of this world ever again. No wonder Scully didn't want to be reminded of the evil that once became the centre of their world together.

"Jesus," he sighs, and steps back to catch his breath. This reaction is not what he had expected.

Some of the files come from the early days. Some before Scully joined him. Most of them unsolved. Two of them involved children; one of whom died. He doesn't want to tell William about those cases, not about the ones that involved children who became victims of the evil that was out there.

He has been trying to find the words to tell William about his Aunt Samantha but can't make it past November 22, 1973. This date feels like a giant canyon that he is neither equipped for nor strong enough to cross. He has been giving up faster and faster each time he tries to start on his sister, he moves onto something – anything - else. All because he doesn't know how to tell one child the story of another child's disappearance that will end in the story of her death. It shouldn't be this hard, he thinks to himself. This is his little sister who, had she lived, would have been William's Aunt Samantha. The sister who was Mulder's biggest pain, funniest family member, often his biggest ally especially when his parents dark moods began to surface. She had a shriek that could land him into trouble simply by being in the same room. An evil laugh that made the rest of them laugh. And she was his friend, and would have grown up to be his closest friend until Scully. And William would have loved his aunt.

I can't tell him any of _this_ he thinks. And I can't tell him our story _without_ any of _this_.

Mulder slams the cover back on the box. It was so easy to forget the horrors that once made up his day to day life until they came back to you fifteen years later disguised as archives. He remembers packing these files safely, thinking he would want to keep them forever. Now, he doesn't want them in his house.

Bored, the dog is bouncing around behind him. The dog makes a noise and begins to walk backwards in excitement, his tail hits a mug and sends it into the air. It lands in the corner in four or five pieces

"Damnit, George Hale," Mulder snaps without thinking. He sighs and leans forward to pick up the files. He finds packing tape in his office and tapes the box tightly. Mulder walks the box to the shed. With any luck, migrant paper eating mice will find it and destroy it. His day has just turned to shit. For now, he will try and put it out of his mind. It is almost one o'clock and if he and George Hale don't get to the airport in Washington by three thirty, his plan will have started without him. Oddly enough, that doesn't seem to matter as much anymore.

* * *

_"There is no specific method of determining when a rescue dog was separated from its mother. In healthy cases, dogs in general are separated within six months, after the initial socialization has taken place. The dog will no longer recognize its mother as such. She will become another dog, should they ever meet again. Once the dog is taken way, it eventually adjusts and eventually will become a stranger to its mother (You & Your Rescue Dog)"_

By the time Scully gets home, she has headache in full gear. She is glad to see the truck is gone because conversation with Mulder – too strained for her liking these days – isn't something she wants to get into. They were up late having another argument. He has been obsessed with cleaning out his office at all hours. She has been obsessed with sleeping through the night without the banging and other noises behind the wall.

She has wondered in the private corner of her heart if this move back to civilization could be the thing that tells them if they will spend the rest of their lives together or not. This might explain the feeling that she has had as though she was crawling day to day across a shaky ladder, methodically moving one hand in front of the other, without looking down, so that it all won't topple to the ground. Does Mulder think the same way or would this even have occurred to him yet.

The decision to move doesn't seem as brilliant as it once did. She is now scared shitless. Mulder seems to be thriving, fearless in the face of Major Life Changes. Then she remembers that his entire life has been one life change after another. He learned how to cope a long time ago, starting from age twelve.

"Don't forget," Curt had reminded her. "The leading cause of stress related illnesses stem from those three life changes, death, new job and moving."

"Yes, thank you, Curt, I am well aware of the statistics of stress related illnesses that life changes can bring on and should Mulder or I crumble into pieces, you'll be the first person we call," she sighed tightly.

"Fox is taking his daily vitamins, I hope." He then darted into the men's room and left Scully standing in the hallway wondering who she pissed off to have this kind of day.

Mulder has left a note saying that he and George Hale have gone into town for more dog food and would be home soon. _Soon,_ on a note with no departure time, means pretty much nothing and Scully crumples up the paper into a tight little ball and kicks it across the room. Why in God's name is he leaving notes about a dog food run she thinks, removing her coat and tossing it onto the first chair she sees.

The place is spotless except for the boxes and her things so she can't even be pissed at him for leaving his crap everywhere. He has even opened the venation blinds he hates so much to let in the daylight. With the light hitting the shabby furniture, she thinks the blinds are a good idea.

Now, she can barely keep her eyes open. Scully is tired these days and any second of sleep that is lost is, in her mind, lost for good. Right now, all she wants to crawl under the bed and never come out. Mulder can bring her meals and take them away; he can send down clean sheets once a week. If she's feeling charitable enough, she'll give him a tussle or two but other than that, she will live alone and unbothered under the bed with her books and a nightlight. It worked for the Peacock mother and now Scully knows why; your own room service and nobody else in the house is brave enough to bother you.

He has started locking the door to his office. Normally this would barely register. Now, living in chaos, it is simply irritating as hell. His packing frenzy started with his own office and has told Scully that he was organizing the mess according to his own special process. In short, please keep out. She doesn't like it in there anyway. Too many reminders of the fact that this room was Mulder's world for what seemed like forever and she was the unwelcome intruder. This room is the enemy and the enemy can piss off.

"Hey, Scully," she hears from the front door.

"Shit," she groans from the bedroom where she is lying with an ice pack over her eyes. Mulder has his strange-voice. Something is up.

"Scully, you here?"

"Yessssss," she growls.

Footsteps come into the bedroom but they are not Mulder's heavy thump when he doesn't take his boots off. These are lighter, almost tentative steps.

"Dana?"

She knows that voice. Scully whips the ice pack from her eyes and sits up. Her heart jumps. "Mom!"

Mrs. Scully opens her arms and Scully falls into them as if she were twelve years old.

Mulder stands at the doorway, beaming, with large suitcase on wheels at his side.

She is wiping her eyes. "Oh my God – what are you doing here?

"Surprising you, I hope."

Scully looks between her and Mulder and finally clues in. "What - How – did you two plan this?"

"It's all Fox," her mother says, almost proudly. "And Walt."

It takes a second before Mulder and Scully register that _Walt_ is _Skinner_.

Mulder quietly slips out of the room and listens to the joy that is spilling out of both Scully women.

"I think…." he begins to George Hale as he wanders into the front room and drops onto the couch. "…I think I made her happy."

He makes the mistake of seeing the broom and dust bin in the corner, where George Hale' tail had send a mug flying that morning. The box. The files

His stomach turns and another image of William drifts to his mind. Why did that box have to arrive today? Why did that box have to arrive at all? He is being haunted again, only this time, without his consent.

Mulder gets to his feet before he loses his momentum. He tells Mrs. Scully that he's going to put her luggage in the spare room. Scully and her mother follow. "Since when do we have a spare room, Mulder?"

"Since this morning."

Mulder opens the door to his office.

"_Mul-der_…" Scully breathes with amazement.

There is a bed in the corner, covered with a floral print duvet cover. There are curtains that match. On the bedside table are two Martha Stewart magazines. There are fresh towels on the dresser. A water jug next to them.

The clutter has disappeared and something resembling a magazine layout, as done by an ex-FBI G-man, has appeared in its place.

"You did all this?"

He nods.

"Mom … this room has never looked like this …."

"Fox, you may have found your new calling," Mrs. Scully remarks, clearly impressed.

"I can't believe this," Scully is still shaking her head. "You did all of this – my mother – this room – When?"

"Can't give away my secrets Scully."

Scully wanders over to the bed and picks up one of the magazines. "I thought I saw you buy those in the store."

"And that surprised you coming from me?"

"You know, Mulder, sometimes I don't know what to think when it comes to you anymore." She gently nudges him away from the doorway, out of earshot of her mother. "Do… do you know how angry you got me? All of that banging, moving things. That's what you were doing?" She looks around the room. "What happened to all of your things?"

"Threw most of them out. The rest is packed in the front room. Boxes marked eyeliner."

"You thought of everything."

He says mysteriously, "_Almost_ everything." Mulder quickly leans closer and whispers into her ear. "Sorry to put your mother in the room next to ours."

"Well, for what you've done, you may just get lucky tonight," she whispers from corner of her mouth.

"Fine, but don't beg, Scully, it doesn't become you."

Her mother misses the good natured elbow that digs into Mulder's ribs. She only looks at her daughter and thinks that she looks happy, standing next to this man who still seems to make her smile.

* * *

"Mulder, when did you make this?" Scully guides a fork full of something good into her mouth. "Mulder?"

His mind has drifted back to the shed and the box again. He snaps to attention. "Sorry - a couple of days ago."

"You have been busy."

"Have to get up early to get something past you, Scully."

They are having what Scully will call their first family dinner – human family Mulder will later contradict. He doesn't like the thought of George Hale, who sits patiently at anyone's feet thinking a crumb might fall, being excluded, even for semantic, un-anthropomorphizing reasons.

While Scully and George Hale showed her mother around the property, he produced a recently purchased set of tableware and made up the table well enough for royalty, which, as far as he was concerned, wasn't that far from the truth.

When they return, there is a bottle of wine waiting for them, freshly cheese and h'or deurves. By the time he has dinner on the table, they are beyond impressed.

"Are there any more surprises we should know about."

He picks up his glass of wine. "No, I don't think so. Did you tell Dana where we went?"

Mrs. Scully almost forgot the sightseeing tour after Mulder picked her up from the airport. "I saw your new house. Dana, it's beautiful. I knew which one was yours the minute we drove onto the street."

"I would have taken her in but I didn't have the key," Mulder explains.

It is probably the only thing that hasn't been done perfectly. He has done everything right and hasn't missed a single detail in making this reunion perfect for both of these women. That's what Scully would tell him for the rest of their lives together. On that day, for that surprise, when she was on her last strip of patience, he had come through in unusually classic Mulder style.

Every now and then, Scully will catch his eye across the table and give him that smile; the one he would walk over every killer alien just to glimpse.

They talk, catch up, act like normal people with a normal guest. Every so often, Mulder thinks about the box and wonders what else is in there he should have forgotten about and probably never will. But he is brought back to earth by these two women and their joy at being reunited. This is what it should be about, he thinks. This**. **Not a box of history.

* * *

end of CH12


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

_"When a rescue is comfortable in his or her new life, with the people who it has learned to call its alpha family, you will see a change. The trust that replaced the fear will determine how that animal feels and what it is capable of accomplishing. - (You & Your Rescue Dog)"_

* * *

"What do you think of George Hale"

Scully is on leave for this week – another arrangement Mulder made by convincing Scully that taking a week's leave would make their moving details easier. She agreed. Now, she is driving her mother to the hospital to show her where she works; the desk and office she calls her own. A door without Mulder's name; a desk without his nameplate. They are in her world now.

Scully needs to pad conversations with safe-talk. No topic is safer than George Hale. She can't get over how many old habits of being a Mother's Daughter have returned. Maggie has caught her daughter up on the nieces and nephews, the brothers, the sisters in law, even the neighbours. With those safe ones out of the way, though, she worries that the way is clear, open to dive into the trickier discussions.

"I was a little nervous when I saw him in the truck at the airport, though." Maggie Scully says. "He kept bouncing as if he was going to burst through the door and attack."

"With his slobber maybe. He's only growled once, when he thought I was in danger. And he's crazy about Mulder."

An opening as good as any. Mrs. Scully waits the appropriate three seconds and says, "I could say the same about you. You both seem good together. Not as I had imagined."

"How did you imagine us?"

"To be honest, I didn't know how long you would last together outside of your lives in DC."

"Neither did I." Scully laughs nervously. "He's a hard man to live with sometimes. He is a harder man to live without."

Scully imagines this is the moment where her mother pauses and asks gently. _"Was he worth it? Was it worth what you did to your family to be with this man_?'. She has composed entire conversations she expects to hear pop out of her mother's mouth at any, sudden second, with no warning.

"I was surprised when Fox told me you both bought the house. I thought you were just renting until-"

'_Until we decide if we are going to go the distance or go our separate ways," she_ understates and gratefully steers the car into the hospital parking lot. "We want to be together – I guess we need to see if we can do it in the real world."

Inside the hospital, Scully introduces her mother to five people. Four of them make smart-ass comments about finally meeting someone in Scully's life. They are part of the group who don't believe there is a partner parked at home. The fifth person to meet Mrs. Scully is Curt Fraser. He has heard Dana is in the hospital showing her mother around and this is too good to pass up for the nosiest man in the district.

"Dana," he sings from the doorway of her office. Scully and her mother turn around, startled even though Scully should be used to these arrivals by now.

"Curt, you're not usually this slow on your reaction time."

"I've been indisposed," he says, bi-passing Scully and heading right for her mother. "Good to meet you, Mrs. Scully. I'm Curt Fraser."

"He's the one I told you about," Dana reminds her.

It takes Mrs. Scully a second. "_You'r_e George Hale's playmate."

Curt turns to Scully, beaming. "You gave me a title?"

She shrugs. "Mulder's idea."

"He's a great dog, isn't he," Curt gushes back to the guest. "We're going to get one." Quickly, he turns back to Scully. "Which doesn't mean I don't want to look after Georgie. This time, he'll have an animal playmate instead of my kids."

She is slightly embarrassed by Curt's gushing and oddly proud at the same time. She has made friends. Maybe that is the difference. Strangers can make asses of themselves in front of mothers all they want and manage to say nothing. Friends, they tell your mother how much they love your dog and don't leave out a single, valentine adjective. And since Scully has joined the _Love-Me-Love My Dog_ club, these things are now important.

* * *

"Can you do me a favour, Mulder?"

Scully's soft voice floats across the bedroom to his ears. Mulder, with the covers up to his chin, is deep in the world of the _Mars, the Planet I Call Home_. He manages a vague, "Mmmm?" without lifting his head.

"Use these while my mother is here, please." Scully sends a pair of pajama pants through the air. They land on his face.

There was a close encounter in the middle of the night before when Mulder sleepily wandered into the bathroom moments after Mrs. Scully had just left. Only Scully seemed to notice the near miss.

Mulder pulls the bottoms off his face and digs for his glasses that are buried in the fabric. "You've got to read this book, Scully. You can't believe the questions it asks."

She turns off the main light and climbs into bed. "Did you hear me, Mulder?"

"Why did you throw these at me?"

"Because…" She lowers her voice with a quick look towards the wall. "My mother doesn't need to see you naked."

"How do you know?"

She yanks the pants from his hand and stuffs them in his face. "Again, please keep them on."

"Fine." He ducks under the covers and begins to put them on.

He can hear Scully sigh impatiently on the other side of the sheets. But in a moment, she has slipped under the sheets next to him and creating an instant tent

Mulder turns on his side and rests his head on his hand. There is a romantic soft glow of the light coming through the tent of linen. He sticks a finger in Scully's ear to get a smile. He gets the smile and a giggle as well. Hiding beneath the sheets brings out the juvenile side in both of them. They have had a lot of practice since George Hale entered their lives and they discovered the Linen Tent of Silence.

"I think my mother is seeing someone," Scully says.

Mulder gasps dramatically. "Anyone we know?"

Scully leans over and whispers, "Skinner."

This time the drama is real. "Are you _kidding_?" he whispers back hoarsely.

"She keeps referring to him as Walter. Or Walt. She said something about him being at a restaurant."

"Your mother and_ Skinner_?"

"I know."

"Isn't that kind of … weird?"

Scully can only nod. Weird is only one way of putting it. Skinner is her boss. Her saviour. Her friend.

"If they got serious, that would make him your….."

"Mulder, don't say it."

They are interrupted by a sneeze from the guest room.

Mulder jumps. "These walls are thin. There goes my social life" He snuggles closer to Scully. "Skinner could be your… step-father."

"Watch it…."

"I wonder if it's true. It does make sense. They're relatively close in age."

"He's a good man."

"She's a good woman."

"I wonder if Bill knows."

Mulder puts his hand over her mouth. "That's going too far. Your brother hates FBI men."

"No, not all of them." Scully removes his hand and kisses the palm. "Just you."

"Guess it would be okay," Mulder muses. "Bill could have someone to sit him down and explain the facts of life to him."

"Mulder….."

"You'd have someone to walk you down the aisle." Mulder realizes what he has just said. "Scully, I'm sorry. That was stupid."

She has that look on her face, the one that tells Mulder that whichever answer he gives, it will be wrong. "What was?"

"Well… walking you down the aisle. I didn't intend to refer to Skinner or anyone ever taking the place of your father."

But this isn't the reason for the expression. Something else has snuck into her mind. "Do you ever think about it?"

Another no-win question. "Think about …."

"Getting married."

"To _you_?"

"Yes, Mulder." She flings the covers off of their heads and the tent is gone. Playtime is over but she knows she has his attention. When Mulder listens, he listens without distraction. "Have you ever thought about you and I getting married?"

"Yes. Sometimes. But I'm never sure if it's because it's expected by tradition or if it's something you want or if it's something I want. Given my lifestyle, my personality, I have never really considered it a possibility. I realize that living together and buying the house is a step in that direction. Beyond that, I haven't come to any conclusions."

Shit. He's given this more thought that she realized. Irritatingly, typical Mulder.

"Why don't we talk about it?"

"I'm never sure if… not sure if you wanted to discuss it."

"You could ask."

His eyes widen slightly. "Ask you to marry me?"

"Keep your voice down. No, I meant ask me if I want to talk about it."

"You could just as well as me if I want to talk about it."

She gives up. "I know. I just think … with the move, the career changes - with all of that, there are certain … expectations. I mean look at Curt's question about whose name George Hale was under. We need to think of these things sometimes."

"He is under your name, what's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it didn't occur to either of us that there was another name in this …. family – household - whatever you want to call it. Legally, he isn't even shared property. He's my property."

"And….." He is waiting for the obvious – or Scully – to hit him but nothing is happening

"We don't share as much as we should."

"Share…."

"Property – a dog – names."

"You want to take my name?"

Now, she wants to give up. "No, I don't mean - Curt assumed the dog could have been under mine your name – maybe we need to come to expect this too."

"The new house is in both our names."

She takes in and lets out a long breath before deciding to speak again. "Are you really not getting this Mulder?"

"I know names – identities are important. They define who we are, but they shouldn't define who we are not."

"You mean leaving behind the safety of our last names and baring our souls under our real identities."

"We don't care what anybody else thinks or wants to know or would like to share. That's one fact which I do know about both of us."

"You know, there are times I just want to fit in with the rest of the world."

He looks at her strangely. "You really want to be one of the crowd, Scully?"

"Sometimes."

Words he never wants to hear. He would die of loneliness if he ever truly became one of the crowd

"Scully – look – you know how I feel about you – us. If getting married is something you want then I'll do it. I'm in; sign me up. But not because you think that we owe them explanations about our relationship that are nobody's business but ours."

"I didn't say that's what I thought. Never mind, Mulder. I simply wanted to know if you had thought about it and you have so, that's that."

Mulder settles against the pillow, trying to decide if he should continue this conversation or live peacefully. "Would you be bringing this up if your mother wasn't staying with us?"

Her voice drops dangerously low. "This has _nothing _to do with my mother."

"You really believe that? I know she wouldn't all-out ask _if_ and or _when _we're getting married but she's here, helping you move from one world to another where, as you say, certain conventions are observed, such as moving into a house you are buying with a man who is no longer your work partner but now your life partner. Of course it's going to cross both of your minds sooner or later."

_It's what women do_, he thinks but at least is smart enough not to say.

"Has it occurred to you while you're accusing me of thinking what other people think - that _you_ will go to the ends of the earth _not_ to do something that many other people have done - like get married?" Scully doesn't pause for more than a second. "Never mind, I don't want to carry on with this discussion with my mother in the next room."

"Why, so she doesn't hear us argue?"

"No, so she doesn't have to hear you tell me how much I care about what people think. Or hear you and I discussing which one of us thinks about marriage more. "

Scully leans over on her side and turns out the light. This is the end of the conversation and the beginning of a wave of awkward silence that will flow into the next day.

"Scully," he says quietly, speaking to the back of her shoulders. He raises his hand to touch her hair but stops. "I always think we're lucky we make it from one day to the next, then one week to the next; even one year to the next. I've never been sure if getting marriage is something you want. I'm not even sure if it's something I want. Marriages – at least the ones I have known intimately - fail."

He waits for a sign that he knows isn't going to come. Accusing Scully of going with the crowd on _anything_ is crossing the line. She spent seven years working with the one person whose reputation could have ruined hers at any time, for any reason. But she stayed with him, even when people came up with delightful new nicknames behind her back, on occasion to her face. Even early on - when she had enough of the name calling but not enough of a history with this man yet – she stayed with him because she believed in him and, eventually, because she fell in love with him. Sticks and Stones did break bones, but she never let the names hurt her - unless they were directed at him. Then, it hurt.

* * *

"Fox was out early this morning."

Scully and her mother are out in the shed, going through anything that needs to be kept or tossed. There are. Her mother sits perched on an overturned milk crate in the shed, going through cardboard boxes and recycling boxes of medical journals, newspaper articles, more paper than she has seen in a while. Today, Scully had suggested earlier, was the day to clean out the shed.

"Mmmm." Scully says and tries not to catch her mother's eye. She is working on an overfilled recycling bin she and Mulder had filled over the year with the ambitious plan of hauling it to the nearest recycling centre one day. Now, she sits separating the bottles from the cans from the papers from the garbage from the things she can't identify.

Her mother makes a sudden noise, the kind you make if you open a drawer and see a dead animal.

Scully looks up.

Her mother has opened Mulder's box, the one that came to his door, and landed in this shed soon after.

She tries to lean forward and grab the folder "Mom, no, don't look at -"

But it's too late. Her mother has opened only one file and seen too much to forget. "You worked on these kinds of cases?"

The photographs are horrific. The look on her mother's face is worse.

"No, mom" Scully pulls the entire folder from her mother's hands. "No – this is from something he must have done before I transferred."

"But you … did you work on these kinds?"

_I'll Kill Him_ is clearly written across every tense muscle on her face. "Yes. Not all of them were this bad, Mom. I'm sorry you had to see that –" She leans over and drags the box away from her mother's feet.

"Well, the good news is, I won't need lunch today."

"I'm so sorry, I can't believe he left this here."

"Go easy on him, there might be a reason why he – George Hale, what are you doing?"

Flurries have started falling outside and the wind has sent small gusts of them into the barn. George Hale is prancing up and down, trying to catch one.

"He thinks its food," Scully explains and picks up Mulder's box. One solid heave and she sends it into the corner with enough force that it splits open. The contents all slide to the ground, one file over another; one nasty memory after another "If he thinks we're going back to that," she mutters.

"Ask him," her mother suggests simply. "If you ever speak to him again."

So her mother has spotted the chill in the air.

"You noticed?"

"A little."

"We're fine," Scully assures her. "Mom…do you mind me asking how much you can hear from next room?"

"Not too much. I can hear voices but by the time they filter through the wall, they just sound like mumbles."

Pissed off mumbles.

Scully finds an unopened box and tries for a fresh start in the conversation. "We're going to make one of the rooms a guest room in the new house. You'll come to visit, won't you?"

"More than you think."

Scully stops unwrapping an old magazine from its wrapper.

"I've decided to move back into the house once the current tenant's lease is up next month."

Scully sends the magazine flying as she darts over the crap by her feet to hug her mother. "That's the best news – I'm so happy."

"I'm glad. I was worried you or Fox might think I was crowding you."

"You could never crowd us. Besides, old Fox needs all the allies he can get these days. He can start by helping you move back in."

Mrs. Scully takes a look over at George Hale and his progress with the snow flakes. He has given up and is now trying to dig his way through a very old bale of hay.

"Mom?"

She turns back to her daughter. "Nothing. Fox doesn't have to do anything. Most of my furniture is still in the house. As for the rest of it, I'll see if … maybe Mr. Sk – Walter could lend a hand. "

There's hesitancy in her mother's voice that her children have learned to pick out of a roaring crowd. The way she doesn't look at her daughter directly in the eye is a new twist; it hides the embarrassment of being caught at something that's neither terrible but might not be welcome either.

Scully pauses for courage and goes for the gold. "Are you and Ski - Walter …"

"Yes."

"Oh." Scully sits back and buys some time by pulling her gloves up higher than they are meant to go. "That's ….great." How polite she can get is still up in the air. She has dealt with tragedy, changes, near-death experiences, alien beings … but not this. Not her mother dating a man who is Scully's former boss and mentor and savior. But her mother dating someone who is not her husband.

"Is it?"

"Yes. Yeah – I think it's great. He's a wonderful man."

"Your brothers were a little taken a-back."

"The _boys_ know?" She is used to being the one in the know. Her brothers are always on the trickle-down end of the information food chain.

"Yes. Why wouldn't they?"

There is something in her mother's words that Scully instantly translates to '_Because you were not here to tell,'_

"I know," Scully says. "Of course they would. So you and AD Skinner…"

"Walt," she corrects patiently. "Dana, between you, Fox and Walt and your FBI Last Name Only codes, sometimes I'm almost about to call you Scully. Does Fox even remember your first name?"

Scully isn't fooled. She knows a dodge from an awkward topic when she hears one because she is the queen of changing the subject. "How long have you two been…. dating?

"A few months – well, six."

A dry, forced smile tiptoes across Scully's face. "Wow. Well – that's good. I'm – I'm happy for you, Mom. I am."

"Thank you," Mrs. Scully says, grateful this secret is now out. Of the three children, she worries about Dana's reaction the most – not because the man in question is Dana's friend; because he is not her father.

* * *

Mulder's truck pulls up next to the house at three o'clock that afternoon. He has had a bad, long, tiring day. When he drove over to the new house to see how the floors were coming, he discovered that the contractor has used the wrong kind of wood. Again. Mulder lit into him about _How Hard Is It to Read in Bold Face Type_. He wasn't proud of himself when he drove away but hell, how hard _was_ it to read a simple shade of wood?

"Hey Scully," he calls wearily. He is tired and he feels like crap.

Scully is sitting at the table, trying to make sense of a pile of forms she packed away two years ago. She has been staring through the papers all afternoon, thinking about her life and her mother and futures and pasts and why one follows you with constant reminders of failures but the other doesn't give you a clue about future successes.

"Don't slam the -"

The door slams shut behind Mulder before he can grab it.

"….door."

"Sorry." He kicks his boots off. One lands against a stack of boxes by the stairs. The other just misses Scully's leg.

"Damnit, Mulder," she snaps and flings the boot back towards the doorway.

He steps over it and wanders into the room. "Where's your mom?"

"Out for a walk."

"George Hale?"

"With her."

She waits for a crack about empty houses and consenting adults. Instead, he walks past her and disappears into the bedroom, mumbling something about a nap.

Scully picks up one of the files they found this morning and follows him into their room like the lion who has been waiting all afternoon for the prey to wander into the trap without a clue of the danger he is in.

"What the hell is this, Mulder."

He is sitting on his side of the bed, leaning forward with his arms across his lap, and he is staring out the window. "What's what?"

She tosses the file on the bed. "I found this in the shed in a box of other files. Actually, my _mother _found them."

He glances over his shoulder and sees the file. The damn box.

"Why are you keeping these?" Scully asks.

"I'm not. I meant to throw them out."

"Mulder?"

He turns around sharply. "You honestly think I want to keep these?"

"They why do you still have them?"

"Because it arrived a few minutes before I needed to pick up your mother up at the airport and I didn`t have time to go through and see what was it in. Is that okay, Scully? I don't need to keep every photo or report from these cases because I'll never get them out of my memory for as long as I live."

She would dearly love to apologize to him but her rage is just too strong to let that through. Poor Mulder doesn`t deserve this. He rarely does when she gets this way; too ahead of herself and too wound up to remember what she is actually upset about.

"Please throw them out before we move." She waits until she sees the back of his head nod. "Fine." She snatches the file in question and leaves the room and wonders when she learned how to turn into such a bitch.

* * *

end of CH 13


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

The phone message the next day from her mother is simple and direct. Fox has been throwing up all day and his temperature has risen slightly and, sounding like the mother-in-law she can be, Mrs. Scully adds that she is a little worried.

_Shit_.

Scully picks up the phone and calls home. With a guilty thud, she realizes she didn't even speak to Mulder this morning. He was sound asleep and after their words last night, she wasn't particularly keen on restarting another dangerous conversation.

Her mother answers on the third ring.

"How is he?" Scully asks, nervously digging the business end of a pen into a steno pad.

"He's about the same. I can't tell if it's the flu or maybe food poisoning." Her mother always sounds more relaxed than she really is when something worries her.

"Can you put him on?"

There is a pause. Scully can hear the receiver land gently on the table. In ten seconds, her mother returns, her voice subdued. "He's gone back to sleep. Where do you keep your aspirin? I've looked everywhere."

Shit number two. "We're out. I can bring some home. I should be out of here in an hour or so. Can you keep an eye on him until then?"

It's hard not to when he apologizes every time he darts into the bathroom. "Of course. See you soon."

Scully hangs up the phone and digs the pen harder into the pad until she has created a small, blue bic crater. "Mulder, what are you doing to me," she groans as she grabs two binders she needs for the meeting that she is five minutes late for.

Scully makes it as far as the door before she stops and turns around. Common sense seems to return and she puts the binders down. She will ask the receptionist to cancel.

Mulder is sick.

* * *

After a morning of throwing up, Mulder finally falls into a sleep that is a mixture of nightmare, fever and anxiety. All afternoon, he dreams that he is still in DC, trying to get to his basement office, but this office is still the one he saw in real life and he thinks he needs to get there. Occasionally, Mrs. Scully will slip into the room and put her hand on his forehead. She is like Scully this way, he thinks - the only rational thought he has that afternoon – gentle and full of strength.

Later that day, when he is more lucid, Maggie Scully sits down on the side of the bed, joined by George Hale, and has a full conversation with this not-quite son in law. Mulder makes a good listener .

The difference between a dark room in Washington and a dark room in the middle of nowhere is level of blackness. Streetlights bring shadows and hints of light; the country side brings shear black. The curtains to the bedroom are wide open and when she opens the door, Scully can barely see a thing. She doesn't need to turn the light on to see that the long, huge lump on the far side is Mulder, lying on his side with two duvets covering him. She delicately climbs onto the bed and inches her way over to him.

"I'm fine," comes a deeply tired, voice from beneath the covers and pillows.

"So I hear. Come on, turn over, I want to have a look at you."

"Did you bring any aspirin?"

"Yes. I'll get it in a second." She lays her hand across his cheek and then his forehead. He is warm. She slips a thermometer into his mouth and settles down next to him. "Here, keep this in for a moment."

"I feel like crap," he groans when there is a subtle bounce in the middle of the mattress. His eyes remain closed. It's easier that way.

She reaches for and finds his hand. After all these years, she still takes a certain joy in holding this hand, twice the size of her own, waiting for his fingers to wrap around hers. They lie wordlessly for a few moments. She watches his face, and the eyes that are closed. "Headache bad?"

A nod.

"Want me to sit with you for a while?"

A slight, delicate shake of the head.

The thermometer finally beeps and she pulls it from his mouth. "It's high."

"How high?"

"You don't need to know."

He tries to pull a corner of the top blanket over his shoulder and turns on to his side. "Aspirin, Scully."

"Okay, I'll be right back

She thinks she sees the back of his head nod. "Want me bring in George Hale? He's good company."

"Keep him with you; he stayed in here with me all day."

Scully gently eases herself off the bed and watches the mound of linen that is Mulder. "Okay," she finally says. But she can't quite leave yet. She can't forget that if her mother hadn't been here she never would have known this man was sick. "Mulder – I'm sorry I let loose at you last night – I should have paid more attention – You obviously weren't feeling well – I guess what I'm trying to say is… I'm sorry. Never mind. I think I'm babbling.

"Scully…"

"Yes?"

"Aspirin."

* * *

Her mother has made dinner and set two places at the table. George Hale, now that Scully is home, has left Mulder's side and he follows Maggie Scully around the kitchen in case she drops anything.

Scully wanders into the kitchen and sits down as her mother pulls open the cutlery drawer and rifles through the forks until she finds the steak knives.

"Sorry," she says tiredly. "I keep meaning to clean that up."

"It's not as if you have anything else to do."

Scully looks up quickly. Her mother is smiling. It was a joke, thank God. For a minute, she thought she was serious.

"Between packing, working, looking after Fox,"

"I didn't look after him. That's the problem. If you hadn't been here, I wouldn't have known he was sick. He likes to keep that kind of thing to himself."

"Living with a doctor? He really can't resist a challenge, can he?"

"Maybe not." She catches herself twisting a knot of paper on the table. She is still feeling ill at ease with her mother. Her mother is leaving the day after tomorrow. Scully isn't sure if she dreads this more than she welcomes it. They love each other dearly, they are still as companionable as ever but there are certain issues being deftly avoided here. Scully feels as though she is walking through little verbal mine fields. One word tripped over, one fact implied by a glance, or change in tone of voice. Implications everywhere; subjects they both can see hanging over each of their heads.

"I've got some good news and bad news for you." Scully says.

Maggie turns. "That's the way I like my information."

"I've heard that they are going to throw a good by party for me at the hospital. I told Curt to tell them 'no' but apparently, it's what they do whether the person cares or not. _That'_s the bad news."

"And the good news?"

Scully rolls her eyes. "_You'll_ be gone by then."

Maggie laughs as she stirs the soup. "I'll count my blessings. You're going to make Fox go, I assume?"

"Oh yes. I'm not facing that alone. Mulder can soak up some of the attention. You know, the only person from the hospital who has met Mulder is Curt. Everyone else apparently thinks he is my invisible friend."

"I used to wonder that myself until I finally met him."

Scully smiles. She made a point of keeping work from family the moment she joined the FBI. This rule continued long before and long after she began working with Mulder.

"That's too bad they don't know him. He's …." Here, Maggie has to pause to get the perfect word for this man. "He's a gem hidden in a complicated, wonderful kind of maze."

Her mother has captured him in this one, wonderful sentence.

"He - he's – it has been a hard couple of years; getting further away from everything he knew, where he was on solid ground. I think having only me in his life hasn't helped. He turned more inside."

She's playing this down. It was the year from hell. Almost as bad as the hell on the road, but a few degrees away. "Depression."

Maggie puts the spoon on the handle of the pot and sits down across from her. "That must have been hard."

"He came out of it."

"I mean for you. One person dealing with another's depression is hard, especially in isolation."

Tears from a barely sealed wound are hovering behind her eyes. "It was. I've seen him go through so much but this…" She clears her throat. "Yes. It was hard. He's come back. I think George Hale had a lot to do with that. For a while, all Mulder did was just stay in the house, writing. Now, Mulder takes the dog with him when he goes into town. He says people either avoid the freak with the pit bull or they will talk to him and to the dog." Scully rolls her eyes with a laugh. "Apparently, George Hale is both a People Repellent and a Chick Magnet."

She isn't sure where her comfort level lies, talking about Mulder's bout with depression. He wanted to ride it out without anybody knowing, or helping. He swore Scully to silence and had no idea what this did to her. Now, her mother is the only real person she has let in. Skinner suspected something was wrong but he didn't press. Perhaps he knew Scully's code of privacy too well. So, she had to deal with it herself.

"Tell me about your move home; when does the tenant move out?"

The bubbling on the stove gets Maggie's attention and she returns to stirring. "In a few weeks, I hope. Andrea was able to find a home with her friends so as long as there aren't any hiccups, I should be in there soon."

"Where are you going to stay until then?"

The stirring becomes faster.

"Oh," Scully finally says, realizing what a stupid question this was. Of course her mother will be living with Skinner. Of course this is where she would stay until then.

"It's not as bad as that, is it?" Maggie asks carefully.

"No, Mom, it's not. I mean it's good."

"Walt's place is about fifteen minutes from your new house. We can give you a hand moving in. Better yet, we'll let Walt and Fox do the heavy work and you and I can go out for dinner."

It's a kind idea that suggests this new life could be so simple. The boys and the girls. The girls and their boyfriends. Dinners at each other's homes. Living with your boyfriend, just like your mother lives with hers.

There is a sudden burst of clunky, heavy feet stomping towards the bathroom. "I'll be right back," Scully sighs.

Mulder is hunched over the toilette bowl; his hands grip both sides of the seat, ready for the next round.

"Oh, Mulder," Scully sighs kindly, closing the door behind her. She glances once into the toilette bowl and flushes.

He mumbles something about linen and carefully pushes himself up to his feet. He flips the lid down and carefully sits as if he is going to break into pieces. "I feel like shit."

"I guessed that." She crouches down in front of him for a closer look. His eyes are red; sweat is slipping out of his hair. He's pale, he smells and he really does look like shit. "Have you kept anything down today?"

He shakes his head.

"Okay, let's go through the list – did you eat anything yesterday that seemed off?"

Another no.

She gently puts her fingers on the right side of his abdomen and presses. "Any pain?"

No. He hasn't had an appendix since he was fifteen.

"Diahera?"

A nod.

"If I give you some water, do you think that would stay down?"

He shakes his head again.

Scully stands up and yanks a towel from the shower door. It is dry and she wraps it around his shoulders as if he is a Christmas present. "Stay here. I'll go change the bed and find some clean things for you to put on. You've soaked right through this t-shirt." She stands back, examining him as if he is an item on the shelf she is considering buying. "If you've still got a fever in the morning, we're going to the hospital."

He leans his head back with a groan. "It's a twenty-four hour thing. I'm not going all that way just to get carsick and be told it's a twenty-four hour thing."

Scully has heard that tone of voice before and sighs sweetly as she drags her fingers through his damp hair. "Oh, yes you will."

Her mother is already in their room, tossing a rumpled bed sheet onto the floor, next to its mate. "You're reading my mind," Scully sighs, glad for the help. She has a fresh set of linen in her arms.

"I've been there with the four of you enough times to know when you need to change a bed. Go eat, Dana, I can do this."

"I'm taking him to the hospital if he's not better by morning."

"Do you think it's something serious?"

Scully leans over and picks up one of the sheets from the floor. She looks at it as if she is if deciding to burn it or not. "I don't know."

"Put that in the hamper, I'll do a load of laundry." Manages a smile. "If that washing machine decides to work."

She manages a smile back. Politeness is the only way to deal with the piece of junk they call a washer. "The big if."

"Now I know what to get you for a house warming gift."

Scully stares at the old linen in her hand. "I'm going to throw these out. I'll buy some new sheets and towels when we move."

Her mother stops mid tuck of the new bottom sheet. "Really?" She has not known her daughter to be concerned about replacing the old with the new.

"I want new things in our house. Nothing from here." She looks around the bedroom to see if she is over exaggerating; the bed, the dresser, the rugs. The lamps on each of their side of the bed. Nope, she decides. Nothing. "Mulder wants to hang on to the house to use as a cottage."

"Really? Once you've moved into the new place, this one will seem like a cottage. Well...a different kind of cottage."

"Remember Uncle Alfred's cottage? I loved going there every summer."

"With or without the plumbing? An outhouse on wheels. He was thrifty."

Scully laughs quietly. "I've missed this. Having you to talk with."

_Thud_.

Her mother is looking away. Scully has accidently tripped one of her own land mines.

"I have too," Maggie finally says, absently smoothing over the top sheet she has just tucked in.

Neither of them moves. Scully finally kicks the remaining sheets towards the nearest corner and takes the leap. "I know that disappearing out of your life for so long was hard on you."

Maggie never told anyone how hard it was. Her sons would have launched into anti-Mulder tirades and miss the point that their mother was hurting. Her friends wouldn't have been able to understand the complexities that led her daughter well underground. The only person she could remotely connect with was Walter. And even he couldn't tell her anything beyond updates that Dana was fine. "Yes, it was. Very."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry for – that was a terrible thing to do to you." She has rehearsed two speeches for her mother. This is the first and the easiest to remember. But now, none of the reasonable, eloquent words are coming back to her memory.

"I know you are. But that doesn't change the year – worrying about you, missing you, being angry at you for putting me through that."

Mulder's polite voice seeps through the tension. "Scully, can you come here for a minute."

"Go," Maggie quietly says.

Scully does as she is told, and leaves the room feeling ten-years-old.

* * *

Mulder is teetering on the side of the bathtub. He has both arms spread out along the rim, trying not to fall backwards.

"I got dizzy," he whispers

Scully takes an arm and pulls him to his feet. "Mulder…."

"Fine, I'll go in the morning."

It must be what she wants to hear, because she helps him back into bed without saying a word.

"I've got a garbage bin right here," she tells him, moving the pillows into position. "Don't try and make it to the bathroom if you need to throw up."

She is about to pull a top sheet over his shoulders. Instead, looking at his perspiration and wondering where Dr. Scully went, she pulls off the pajama bottoms she made him wear.

"Your mom's in the next room," Mulder drawls weakly.

She smiles politely at the effort and tosses the bottoms across the room. "If you leave the room, just check that my mother isn't in view"

"Scully, I can't be the first non-family male she has seen in his underwear."

_Oh, you don't know how right you are, Mulder_.

* * *

At two-thirty in the morning, Scully creeps into the guest room and turns on the lamp next to her sleeping mother.

"Mom…." She gently shakes Maggie's shoulder. "Mom …."

Maggie turns over and opens her eyes. Her daughter is fully dressed, wearing her warmest winter coat. "What's wrong?"

"I'm taking Mulder to the hospital."

"Why? Is he worse?"

The look on her daughter's face gives that answer away. Scully, in the face of panic, is like her mother; the more serious the condition, the calmer, she becomes.

"I just want to make sure it's nothing," Scully understates.

"Okay." She grabs her dressing gown and follows her daughter to the front door. Mulder stands there, clumsily dressed and holding a fist full of plastic bags. There are bags under his eyes, he looks as if he has lost ten pounds in the last day and he reminds Maggie of her father during his last days.

"Mom, can you take George Hale out for his morning walk – he'll wake you when he needs – you know how he barks – I've got my cell if you need anything. Do you know where his food is?"

"I've got it all in hand, Dana. Get going."

"Okay, then, I'll see you later – George Hale, we'll see you later, too." The dog has woken up and isn't quite sure when the new schedule popped into his life. Scully leans down and scratches his head in a way he likes. "Be good. Take care of Grandma."

The instant– the second – these words drop out of her mouth, Scully wants to die. She cannot believe she just said this. She can't stand up and look at her mother. She continues to pat the dog and says, "I'll call you," over her shoulder before she joins Mulder at the bottom of the front steps. She is glad it is dark and he can't see the look of horror on her face.

Shit, she thinks, hearing the front door close behind her. _Oh, Shit_

* * *

The drive is silent and the night is beautiful. These are the only details that Scully is trying to force into her brain so that she will not have to keep thinking of what she has said – which was inappropriate enough – but to whom it was said. That is the kicker.

Mulder, in the passenger, has been quiet. His arms are folded tightly and his head is resting against the window. She can't tell if he is dozing or staring out at the distant lights they past.

He stirs slightly and, out of nowhere, asks, "What's wrong?"

She quickly looks over at him.

" It's just the flu," he assures her.

Nice. He thinks she is worried about him. Mulder_ who?_ Ten minutes ago, she was bundling him up for an emergency midnight run to the hospital, quietly terrified that he is sicker than she wanted to admit. Now, ten minutes later, his health is the last thing on her mind.

"Is it your mother? You'll see lots of each other when we move to DC."

This is the occasional sweetness of Mulder. He thinks she is missing her mother before she has even left.

Scully drives a few more minutes in the silence that Mulder gives them. Where he finds the energy to read her problems and not vomit up his own is a mystery. She decides to toss him a bone - and try to get her own mind off the worst thing she could have possibly said - by announcing, "My mother _is_ dating Skinner."

"I know."

Scully's head snaps to the right. "You _know_?"

"She told me today."

"Mulder, do you think you could have told me that?" Scully does not like surprises as a principle; she hates them now that one has just splashed in her face. But she takes a deep breath and tries to calm down. "What did she say?"

"That it was still new to her since she had only gone out with one man before Skinner. How she was worried about your reaction, your brothers'."

Now, Scully should be the one throwing up. "She talked about all of that? To _you_?"

"I wish you wouldn't put it that way, but yes. She wanted to talk, Scully. She sat on the end of the bed with George Hale and we … talked. I'm sorry, I don't mean to put your nose out of joint."

_Mrs. Scully had just brought him a glass of water and a cold compress for his headache. Once she had helped him get comfortable in bed and dragged another blanket up to his chin, she asked if there was anything else he needed. Mulder, his eyes closed under the compress asked how she was doing. _

"_Me? I'm fine. I'm the healthy one," Maggie reminded him. George Hale had wandered into the room and hopped up onto the bed, landing by Mulder's knees. "George Hale, be careful," she said to the dog._

"_He's fine there. When he thinks one of us in trouble, he likes to stay close." Mulder was tempted to tell her how George Hale didn't leave Scully's side for days after she had returned home inconsolable about William. "Are you looking forward to coming back to DC?" _

_She nodded, although she knew he couldn't see her. Maybe this was the safety net that made her sit down on the side of the bed, next to George Hale. His tail rose and fell on her knee and made her feel welcome. She told Mulder about the tenant's plans to move out, and her own to move in. And slowly found her ground to tell him about being involved with Walter Skinner. And as she talked, and as Mulder nodded or smiled, she realized she had found the one person in her life who would not be wounded by these facts. _

"_I'm glad you two found each other," he told her. "It's …. right."_

_She reached over to George Hale's chin and found his favourite spot. "I – I think so too."_

"_If Scully's a little strange about it, she'll come around."_

"_I hope so. I'm still feeling strange about it. The whole dating business – dear God, it's hard."_

_Mulder chuckled, despite the pain in his head. "You should have taken the easy way. Be friends and co-workers for about eight years. Realize you're ready to tell the other person that you love them and know you'll hear it back. Then, turn your lives and your careers upside down by going on the run, settle down in some invisible farm land and get a pit bull named George Hale who is afraid of cats."_

_Maggie laughed. "Eight years, Fox?" she said. "I had you and Dana figured out at three. Walter could tell at two."_

_George Hale's tail began to thump again. Maggie nuzzled her head into his and told him he has nothing to be afraid of because he's too cute for cats to be mad at him and what a crazy boy he is._

"_You're going to inflate his ego," Mulder warned. "Scully can only take one inflated ego in this house."_

"_You know – Walter – he loves you two very much."_

"_It's mutual. He's been a good friend to us."_

"_That's who he is."_

Scully clears her throat. "Was that …strange for you to hear?"

"Yes, but she's not my mother, so I don't have the emotional fallout that you would."

Silence

"Is it serious?" she finally asks.

Mulder opens his mouth to say something and then changes his mind.

"Is it?"

"I don't know, Scully. Listen, this is a good thing for both of them. And if your mother seems so casual about it because she's known about it from the beginning whereas you just found out."

Finally, something that makes sense. She lets the subject drop. The rest of the drive to the hospital is in silence, except for the five-minute check in that now extends to seven minutes.

Well, she thinks, her plan to distract herself from her faux-pas worked. Really worked. It takes her until she ushers Mulder to the emergency waiting room that until she even remembers she said anything stupid.

* * *

end ch 14


	15. Chapter 15

A quick note - thanks everyone for your amazing words and encouragement. Sorry for the incremental posting of chapters. I'm going to post the last three now. Hope you like them!

* * *

Chapter 15

"Dr. Scully, what are you doing here?"

Bruce at the admitting desk is looking up from the chart he's filling out.

"Bringing in my - a friend. How busy is the lab tonight?"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "Dead." He manages a look at the man towering over the tiny Dr. Scully. Bruce is familiar with the usual friends and families of his co-workers but this guy is new.

"Thanks," she says, and pulls Mulder by the sleeve.

"Not going to introduce me?" Mulder asks under his breath. He still dreads being introduced to people but walking around with a mystery illness should keep him safe from too many encounters. "Tell them I'm your brother," Mulder continues dangerously. "Bill. The fun one-"

"Mulder, please keep quiet or I_ will_ introduce you to everyone."

Scully parks Mulder on a chair and goes to the front desk of the lab. Another person she knows. This is good. She needs to pull all the favours she can now to get Mulder checked out without being official about it. She has a quick word with the technician and motions Mulder to follow her.

The technician, another bored employee, watches Mulder push himself to his feet. Probably someone Dr. Scully found wandering around town. He has heard that the doctor has a big heart for strays. Rumour has it she has been seeing a homeless guy named George.

"You okay, Mulder"

She has been drawing blood in the lab for a minute or so. She can't tell if Mulder is pale because he is sick or if he has suddenly become squeamish.

He nods once.

"Almost done here."

"I feel sick," he says tightly.

"Okay, just another second."

"Hurry."

She removes the needle and puts the vial back in the holder, and shoves a garbage bin into Mulder's arms with about five seconds to spare.

He bolts forward and vomits into the garbage bin. His entire face disappears inside. Finally, the heaving stops and he leans back.

"Christ," is all he can say.

"I know," is all she can say back as sympathetically as she can. "It looks like you're just bringing up the bile. There's nothing left. I'm going to hook you up to an IV for a few hours while I wait for the tests."

"Do you have to?"

"You're too dehydrated." She rubs his back gently. "You're going to feel better once I know what we're dealing with. Okay?"

Another nod. "Can I use that?" He is pointing to a wheelchair in the corner.

She looks at the chair, oddly relieved. "Sit."

She adjusts the foot part and wheels Mulder and his blood to Bob. "Can you page me when you've got the results?"

"Of course, Dr. Scully. Right away."

He offers a smile to the man. Dr. Scully may be aloof but her work with the homeless should be rewarded for all that she does for these people, especially that poor bastard in the wheelchair.

Scully kicks the door open with her foot and pushes the chair into the room with her knee. Her arm is searching the inside wall for a light switch. She has to reach high to find it.

"Dear God," Mulder sighs, looking at the wasteland that was once a room.

"Used to be one of the doctor's lounges." Scully closes the door behind her and makes sure she hears it click. "Come on, let's get you settled over here." She wheels Mulder, and his newly acquired IV and pole across the squeaky linoleum to the lone couch in the room.

There are boxes where the kitchen sink used to be. A coffee stain the size of a weight ball looks like a welcome mat in front of the door.

"Rumour is that people only come here now to make out." Scully skirts in front of the wheel chair and helps him get to his feet and not tangle the iv pole at the same time.

"When in Rome."

"We're not. And all I need is some intern walking in on you and I going at it."

The couch is one of the ancient ones – the kind that could seat twelve comfortably. Mulder is able to lie down and still have room to stretch his legs.

As Scully tries to make him comfortable and adjust the IV pole, he looks up at her and asks, "If someone comes in, can I tell them I'm the guy sleeping with Dr. Scully?"

"You do and you _won't_ be the guy sleeping with Dr. Scully for a while. Here, shift over, the pillow is stuck." With the strength that people tend to underestimate, Scully lifts Mulder up from the pillow so that she can put it under his head properly. She stands back and looks at the finished product with a little pride. "I think that should keep you comfortable for a while. How do you feel? Still nauseous?"

"Yes."

"Think you can sleep?"

"Yes."

"I might go to my office and get some paperwork done while I've got some down time."

She has made the mistake of telling him this in her polite-voice. She wants to go to her office, close the door and scream at herself for what she said to her mother.

"Why don't you call home first and see how your mom is doing with George Hale?"

Her eyes are suddenly beginning to fill with tears and she can't do a damn thing to stop them.

"Hey – Scully."

"I'm fine."

He reaches over with his free hand and tugs at her pant leg. "What?"

"It's nothing."

His hand finally finds her wrist and doesn't let her squirm away. "You want to take my mind off this, you tell me about 'nothing'."

"No – I can't. Not here, Mulder. It's fine, it will keep."

Not again, Mulder thinks, remembering the promise they made to not disappear from the other when pockets of their lives begin to close in.

She breaks away and won't look him in the eye. "I'll bring my laptop up here and work."

If he could get up off this couch without disconnecting the IV or just not vomiting, he would leap to the door that her hand is reaching for and slam it shut. Instead, he warns, "I'm not doing this again, Scully."

His voice is so even and quiet she almost misses it.

Mulder is staring her down "You remember how you felt the last time.? You remember what I said about the _next_ time?"

She looks at him strangely. She would like to tell him to go to hell for bringing up that terrible, terrible morning.

"Does it have to do with William?"

And now she could strangle him. Instead, her body takes over and tears begin to drop.

Over she goes to him, her shoulders shaking as she tries to explain what she said to her mother and why this makes her want to find a very tall bridge.

"Scully, she understands."

"She will never, ever forgive me for giving him away, Mulder."

He pulls her down next to him. He shifts back against the couch, her back settles into him. He drapes one arm over her shoulder and keeps the other hand by the IV pole.

"Did you ever really talk to her about why you had to do this?"

Her head shakes. "Between then and leaving with you – I know I should have but I was so ... I couldn't."

"If she had to make the decision you did, with one of her children, your mother would have done the same thing."

"I know she would. But this was me. I hurt her so badly. And tonight, to refer to our dog – our _dog_ – as a _grandchild_, after everything that's been taken from her."

"Do you know how many times I've almost made the same kind of remarks to you, Scully? Scared to death something inappropriate would come out, something simple that should speak of how much this dog means to me; not to serve as a reminder of a painful decision. Do you think Curt means to hurt you when he refers to us as George Hale's parents? The bottom line for all of us is that we are invariably going to say things that affect other people in ways we will never see. All we can hope for is that these things are said out of kindness. Beyond that, you will censor yourself to death."

Something about this thought begins to ease her hurt. To protect herself and her mother, she could go the rest of her life censoring every simple sentence to form in her brain before she opens her mouth.

She is shivering under his arm.

"Are you cold?"

"I'm so tired."

He pulls her in closer and whispers into her ear, "Then let go and find some rest for a while."

* * *

Bruce is a People-Person whose greatest strength is knowing people and how to get along with them, with or without their help. New employees are often directed his way when they want to know something about someone that no one else seems to know. Bruce knows it all. So when he opens 9B with the test results for Dr. Scully, he is stunned by what he sees. The hardest person in this hospital to read – the mysterious Dr. Scully - is sound asleep on the couch under the arm of a man who has an IV running out of his other arm. It's the same man from last night.

The mysterious Dr. Scully has a life that Bruce knows nothing about. It is humbling.

Bruce braces his knuckles and wraps them twice against the door.

Scully is up like a shot, as if she is trying to wake up to the noise before the noise is finished.

"Uh – Dr. Scully." Bruce steps into the room. "I've got the test results for your … friend."

She takes the results with a quick, 'Thanks.'

He stays where he is. He knows how long it can take a sleepy doctor to read results without help from him. "Nothing conclusive," he offers.

Scully stares at the numbers. "Thanks for this."

His cue to leave.

Scully closes the door with her foot as she reads the report.

"You see the look he gave me?" Mulder asks in an unusually faint voice.

"That's because he doesn't know who you are. For people like Bruce, that's a point of pride."

"So I _could_ tell him I'm Dr. Scully's boy-toy?"

"No." Scully drops down onto the couch, still reading the mystery numbers and codes.

He pushes himself up to read over her shoulder. "Well?"

A smile creeps onto her face. He can tell this even from behind. "Nothing." She finally tears herself away. "White count is low but other than that, most likely a bad virus."

"You sound relieved."

She won't regale him with her list of fears. She turns towards him and pockets the good news. "How are you feeling?"

"Not as bad as last night."

Scully tilts his head towards her and has a look at his eyes. She picks up his wrist and finds what she needs with her thumb. She always feels odd treating Mulder as a patient. Sometimes it feels like too much a character change from who they are to who she doesn't want to be.

"Your pulse is a little fast."

"I'll live. Can we get out of here?"

"Any stomach pain?

"No. Yes. A little."

She stares at him as if he is a new car she is thinking of buying. "I think I'd like to admit you for the day."

"Scully….."

"You're still dehydrated, Mulder and I'm not taking you home just to have to bring you back two hours later. Besides that, we take possession of the house next week, we both start new jobs the week after, there are still arrangements to be completed and I need you _healthy._"

He knows by the exhausted look on her face that he is not going to win this round. "Fine. What are you going to do?"

"Go home. Take a shower. Bring some of your things in case you need to stay longer."

"Which I won't."

"Take George Hale for a walk." She lets the sentence drift into silence and looks at the folded paper in her hand.

Mulder's sure voice creeps into her thoughts. "Your mom's ok, Scully."

"I know. I just need to talk to her. Or try."

"We can both talk to her. He's my son, too and I would have done what you did if I was in that position."

This gets a smile out of her as she stands up. "Thank you. I appreciate it. But it will be fine. I should have spoken to her when it – at the time. Come on, let's get you sorted out."

* * *

On her way out, she stops by the lab to thank Bruce for his help and let him know that Mulder is staying on as an outpatient. Bruce pretends he didn't see Dr. Scully asleep in the arms of this Mulder. "Glad I could help, Dr. Scully. I'm sure your …" And here, he pauses carefully, just long enough to hear what he wants.

She knows people like Bruce and she knows that she desperately needs to get used to simple tasks like introducing Mulder to other people. She wants people to know him, who he is, to whom he belongs and that he belongs to her. And if she has to start with this idiot, so be it.

"My ….…partner."

_Partner._ When that word comes to mind, she still thinks she has to correct herself and say that she didn't mean her work partner but her life partner. In the bureau days, occasionally that misconception was reversed.

"Oh. I wasn't sure if he was your husband or not."

This idiot is so transparent, Scully thinks he will dance into the woodwork. But he's giving her a chance to stretch her social muscles so she will suck up the pride. "He's the man I live with." And she has officially declared herself a part of the human element of this hospital. The _man she lives with_ no longer has to be explained by a shrug or absence of explanation. Soon, he will have an identity. Bruce will see to that.

"That's a great name he's got," Bruce says. "Is that his given name?"

"Mulder? No, that's his … oh, Fox. Yes. His parents ….."

In all this time, it has never occurred to her to ask why his conservative parents gave him this wild, sly, mischievous, mysterious first name. William is his middle name; after his father. Fox – as elusive as the man himself.

* * *

Scully collapses onto the couch. She shouldn't have driven home without getting a few more hours of sleep.

"Mom?" she calls tiredly as she kicks one of her shoes off.

There is no answer.

"George Hale?"

No sound of happy clicking nails. Scully leans back looks up at the ceiling. They never bothered painting this place and the ceiling is proof of why. It looks like shit. Maybe they never looked up long enough to notice.

The front door opens_. _Mrs. Scully appears in the doorway. "Dana."

Scully manages to open one, then both eyes. "Hi."

There's something in this one word that creates a knot of fear in Maggie Scully's stomach. "Where's Fox?"

George Hale skips into the house and bounces onto the couch next to Scully.

"He's still at the hospital." She looks past George Hale's bobbing head to catch the look on her mother's face. "He's okay, mom. He's okay. Just dehydrated. The blood work didn't show anything other than a virus. I'm keeping him on an IV for the day to see if he improves."

Her mother tries to hide her relief. She had a terrible feeling that if she returned from her walk and found her daughter alone, that something would had happened.

A third voice joins the crowd. "Where's Mulder?"

Walter Skinner has now entered the house. He closes the door behind him and jams it shut with his shoulder.

"Sir…" Forcer of habit sends Scully to a sitting position; the kind that should be ready for any eventuality, including your mother's boyfriend who is your ex-boss and your only reason for still being alive, entering the room.

He bends over and tries to remove his muddy boots with as little effort as possible. It isn't possible. There is more mud in this part of the state than he will ever be used to. "That dog of yours knows has marked almost every inch of this property. How's Mulder?" Rid of the boots, he stands up. God, how he towers over her mother, Scully can't help noticing. Maybe it is a trend. Maybe all tall, handsome loner, veteran FBI men hover over the smaller Scully women.

"He's fine," Scully answers his first question. She'll let George Hale's marking habits go for now. "I'm going to pick him up from the hospital later. I just came home to grab a shower."

"And get some sleep," her mother adds. "You look wiped."

She nods.

"I can pick him up for you," Skinner offers

Scully's looking at him oddly and they all suddenly realize he may want to explain what he is doing alone in this house with her mother

He points to the table and a large envelope. "I brought this over from your roofer. The estimates. "

"My roofer?"

"Carlyle. Your roofer."

Mrs. Scully smiles proudly. "You know your baby girl has made it when she has her own roofer named Carlyle."

Scully shakes her head of these facts and gets back to her feet. "I think I'll go shower," she decides. "After I eat something."

"Fridge is full," her mother calls after her as she shuffles to the kitchen.

_Fridge is full._ Her mother's boyfriend may well have spent the night – or rest of early morning but they have managed to keep the fridge full. No, she decides as she stands in front of the open fridge door. He would have had to arrive damn early for that. Maybe he really did come to drop off the estimates. They don't have a fax, this is probably Skinner's only option to help the roofer who may not know they do not have a fax and probably won't until they move into the house and set up an office which Mulder has already planned out to look like-"

"Scully?"

She comes out of her semi-conscious inner ramblings. Skinner is standing in the doorway with a funny look on his face.

"Do you have a second?"

Apparently, she does. He pulls out two chairs from the table.

Skinner waits until she is seated. He folds his hands and tries not to look like the heel this kind of situation makes him feel like.

"You know that your mother and I …."

"Yes, sir. That's fine. I'm fine with it. I think it's … great." His eyes are boring down at her, gauging the authenticity of this adjective. "It was a little strange to hear at first. In a good way."

Skinner sits back. This will be fine. He won't have to deliver some form of the, _I don't intend to take the place of your father_ speech after all.

"She deserves someone who makes her happy. So do you."

"Thank you."

"Have you met the boys yet?"

He looks puzzled. _Boys_? _Children_?

"My brothers," Scully explains, only mildly enjoying the glimmer of panic on his face.

"Oh. No. Not yet. Your mother says one of them may visit once she gets settled."

Scully's eyes light up for the first time today. "That's fantastic. Did she say which one?"

He hesitates. "Bill."

Scully's turn to look worried. "Oh."

"He's the one who hates Mulder, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"He's going to hate me too, isn't he?"

"Not …. necessarily. Sir, his attitude to Mulder has nothing to do with you or the FBI in general. It's a Mulder thing." Even she can't spin a positive outcome on this one. "I'm sure he has changed his opinions somewhat. For Mulder's sake, I hope he has. You'll be fine. You're much like Bill in the good way; you share a military background, respect the rules of the institution, you both -."

"Jesus, Scully, do you have to make me sound so …."

"Sorry. I guess we are all going to have new things to get used to when we move to Washington. Don't worry sir, if Bill gets out of hand, we can have Mulder run interference for you."

There is a moment of shared relief. Mulder-inspired jokes can save almost any moment. Skinner pushes his hands on the table to stand up.

"Sir – " Her voice is so quiet he almost misses it. "Has – does my mother … does she ever talk about William?"

He pauses and sits back down. "No."

There is a feeling of relief and disappointment from this word. Scully nods, understanding both.

"We talk about many things – but not him."

She didn't realize it was a useless question. Of course Skinner wouldn't have talked to her mother about her mother's grandson. It was Skinner who had to make the arrangements, it is Skinner who must keep the secrets. She hopes this doesn't come between the him and her mother, but she knows it eventually will. Secrets will always fail, good intentions or not.

* * *

Scully crawls into bed and drags the duvet over her shoulder. She is so exhausted, she cannot think. Did she close the bedroom door behind her? If she didn't, George Hale will bolt onto the bed and scare the hell out of her. He will wake up Mulder, but Mulder isn't here right now….

"Dana?"

_George Hale_?

Her mother is walking towards the bed holding something. It is a hot water bottle. She gingerly slips it under her daughter's legs.

"Thanks, Mom."

"You're welcome. Get some sleep." Mrs. Scully turns for the door.

Scully lifts her head. "Mom …"

Mrs. Scully turns around.

"What I said to George Hale … talking about you as 'Grandma'…. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

They both know she is not referring to a simple reference to a dog

"I know you are."

"I had no choice."

"I know you didn't."

"Do you?"

Cautiously, with legs now so wobbly at this long overdue conversation, but still working, Mrs. Scully repeats softly that, yes, she knows. How can she hold her daughter responsible for worrying a parent when her own child now suffers the same hell.

Scully realizes to her own horror that she is waiting for her mother to offer her forgiveness. Her mother doesn't say it. She isn't there yet. For all she understands about her daughter's decision, a small part of her will never forgive and Mrs. Scully will never admit this to anyone, maybe not even herself.

Scully watches her mother leave the room, sees door close gently. She hears her mother's soft voice tell George Hale to come into the kitchen for his dinner.

And Scully falls asleep.

* * *

George Hale is in a strange mood He isn't sure if he should look out for The Tall One or keep an eye on The Small One. He takes turns between sitting at the front door and sleeping in front of Scully's closed door. Normally, he is allowed free access to this room – certain exceptions still withstanding – but if Scully leaves him in there when one of them is trying to sleep and the door is closed, inevitably, he will want to get out. So, he spends time wandering between both entrances.

The Other Tall Man has taken him out for two walks but gave up on each because George Hale's mind was on the house and the return of the Alphas.

When the phone rings an eternity later he bolts up from the front door while the Alpha's Alpha grabs it quickly.

She has been quiet all afternoon, sitting in one place and stare at the paper object with all the pages.

She hangs up.

The Other Tall Man wanders in from the kitchen. He speaks in a quiet voice. "Hospital?"

"They are going to discharge him." Her voice is also quiet. "I think I'll pick him up, I want Dana to sleep."

The Other Tall Man walks past her to the door and takes his coat. "I'll get him. You've slept about ten minutes longer than she has."

He looks down at George Hale, who is now on all fours and looking up.

"Am I supposed to bring him?"

"No," the Alpha's Alpha says. "He might get too overexcited to see Fox."

The Other Tall Man looks down at George Hale and shakes his head. "This dog needs a life."

* * *

Mulder is waiting in the front lobby of the hospital. He signed himself out twenty minutes ago and if someone doesn't pick him up soon, he is going to tip over and resume sleeping. He doesn't even mind if his ride is Curt. The man talks, but Mulder figures he can be out cold before his first sentence has ended.

His long legs are stretched out and crossed. His arms are crossed. His head is bowed forward and he is trying to remember what sleep feels like. He has had a long, uncomfortable day; the kind you don't even wish on the last guy to call you 'Spooky'. His stomach is sore from all the throwing up he did the day before; his head still aches and, worst of all, he feels as though he has been stared at, wondered over; guessed about and misnamed. Hospital employees – only the ones who come into contact with Scully; the rest kindly couldn't give a shit - have been meandering past him throughout the day, the way you do when someone wants you to look at something fascinating, _but for god sakes, don't get caught!_

Scully must have these people completely puzzled because every one of them has an extra turn of their heads when they see him. He thinks he heard the term, 'hottie' come from one intern to another after their third walk-by. The name 'George' also floats past him several times. He hopes he never has to come here for anything worse than the flu because he truly doubts that these people could do anything to help him without playing Twenty Questions first.

A few people are coming through and out the automatic doors. Mulder even thinks he sees Assistant Director Skinner holding the door for three women at the entrance. That's all he would need, he thinks, before he reconsiders that Skinner is no longer his boss. He isn't sure what they are exactly.

"Mulder."

He looks up. Christ, it _is_ Skinner.

He looks at him with a strange feeling that, for all probable good reasons, he and Skinner could very well turn into family, if they haven't already.

"Sir!"

"Do you know you've been staring directly at me since I got out of my car?"

Mulder's face is blank. "Huh? Where's Scully?"

"Sleeping." Skinner leans forward and puts a hand under Mulder's elbow. "Let's go. Car's outside."

Mulder stands up and has to let Skinner steady him before he can walk by himself.

"Why is Scully still sleeping?"

"Something about staying up all night with you. Let's move."

It's all too strange for Mulder and he lets Skinner take over.

* * *

The house is quiet and settled in a way that Mulder is not used to. Mrs. Scully is at the table reading a dog training book she found on top of a packed box. There is a cup of hot coffee by her elbow. George Hale is at her feet and has slept through Mulder's return.

Skinner closes the front door behind them. There is a strange sense of comfort that Mulder has not felt since he was a kid; He is returning to his home and to a family - his family - that is settled and accounted for.

George Hale and Mrs. Scully see him at the same time. "Fox, how are you feeling?"

"Better thanks."

When she pulls him down into a hug, that unexpected feeling of family grows. She hugs like Scully, meaning every second of it. It's a safe place.

He glances down at his knees. "Hey, buddy."

George Hale knows not to jump on him right now, that something still isn't right.

"Sc-Dana – still sleeping?"

"So far. Can I get you anything to eat?"

"No, thanks," he says quietly. "I'm going to lie down." Like the zombies he used to watch on TV, he shuffles into their bedroom and crosses the dark room to where he hopes the bed still is.

He wraps one of the discarded blankets around his shoulders and drops face down onto the mattress next to Scully. He drops an arm around her shoulder and is asleep in seconds.

* * *

The middle of the night is full of quiet activity. Scully rolls onto Mulder's arm at three thirty and has to wait a few moments before she puts together why this is unusual. She has slept over eight hours, and as soon as she makes a trip, she is probably going to knock off a few more

"Sorry," she whispers to his sleeping form. He doesn't budge despite the crushed appendage.

Gently, she leans over the bed and puts her hand on his forehead and is relieved to find he has no more fever. She is a little creeped out by the fact that he is still in his hospital clothes while on her linen but as she told her mother, the linen will not be joining them in DC. Still, she doesn't want to think what little things managed to hop a ride on his clothes.

Delicately, she opens the bedroom door and almost steps on George Hale's sleeping form. He is sprawled across the doorway, his eyes shut tight and his legs twitching; chasing bunnies, Mulder calls it

The walk to and from the bathroom is dark and she is extra careful not to bump into anything. If she turns on the light, she will wake their second houseguest, Walter Skinner. She can barely make out his form on the couch. And, oddly enough, is still there. If this were her mother's house and Mulder was the guest assigned to the couch, he would have snuck into her room long before this, even if it was just to sleep. Maybe this is how life as an older couple goes.

"Sorry," she apologizes to the sleeping dog again as she steps over him. She crawls back into bed and into calmer sleep, now that she knows the man snoring next to her is home and safe.

Two hours later, Mulder wakes up to a full bladder and sleepily thinks that he is still in the hospital. By the time he stands up and pulls his fingers through his hair, he realizes he is in his own home. Scully is on the other side of the bed, her head tucked under a pillow, sleeping fiercely. He should really have a shower and get out of his hospital-visit clothes but he doesn't want to risk waking anyone up, especially George Hale. Instead, he strips down to his underwear and hopes Mrs. Scully is used to Haines. He pulls on a grey t-shirt to complete the set and creeps out of the room .

It is still black outside. There aren't even any stars to poke through the sky and remind him that there is life on other planets. Mulder does his business and slips out of the bathroom. Across the room, the door to the guest room opens and Mulder sees Skinner tiptoeing back to the couch.

Both men stop and stare at the other.

"Morning, Sir," is all Mulder can think of to say.

"Morning Mulder," Skinner whispers back. He is wearing underwear and holding his pants in his left hand. One of his socks is still on. Moments between men shouldn't be this awkward.

"I didn't know … you were staying over," Mulder stammers.

"I'm driving Mrs – Maggie to DC in the morning –today - this morning."

"Oh. Yeah, I heard you two are … dating."

"Yes. She and I are currently… dating." This conversation is taking a strange turn. "Are you all feeling all right?"

"Just going to the bathroom."

"Good luck."

"You too sir."

"Don't need to call me Sir, Mulder." Skinner tiptoes back to the couch and disappears under the covers.

Mulder wonders how long Skinner managed to stay on that couch for. If they were in Mrs. Scully's house and Mulder was assigned the couch, he wouldn't waste time once the lights were out to sneak into Scully's bed.

Mulder heads back to his room. He is still putting this together but basically, he just caught the boss sneaking out of Scully's mothers' bedroom. It's a shame, he thinks. This story is too good and he won't be able to tell anyone but the dog.

* * *

end of CH 15


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

* * *

"They bought the wrong colour tiles for the kitchen back-splash."

Mulder has just returned from two meetings in DC. The contractors meeting is the meeting he will tell Scully about. He has vowed to keep the second one to himself forever.

He met with a junior editor from his publishing company. Mulder updated him with as generic terminology as possible on his progress until the editor bluntly asked Mulder where he was with the draft and Mulder could only clear his throat and say, "nowhere."

"_No_where?" the editor questioned.

"Nowhere," Mulder replied plainly. He didn't have it in him to go through the loops and turns of the books development only to finish with, "_and now I'm stuck_." 'Nowhere' seemed more simpler, less ambiguous.

He was hoping this guy had heard the Spooky Mulder references and chalked up the former agent in front of him as Another Creative Genius Who Must be Indulged.

"Oh." The editor had said, instead. "Well. That's a problem, then."

Now, Mulder drops down onto the couch and almost sinks to the bottom, which is funny he observes, because that's exactly where he feels at this moment in time.

"How do you feel about fuchsia?" he hollers sarcastically. "A nice hot-pink backsplash tinted with lovely specks of gold along the . . . . . "

There is no answer.

"Scully?"

Silence.

He pushes himself off the couch and walks towards the bedroom. No Scully. No George Hale either, now that he thinks of it.

"Scully? George Hale?"

For a moment, he thinks they must be out for a walk somewhere. Until he hears a thin, very reluctant, "Out back."

Out back. He goes out back with a feeling of dread that he can't quite place yet.

He stops at the doorway of the shed and sees Scully sitting on cinder block of cement. In the corner, George Hale is sprawled out and sound asleep. And in front of Scully is the box. The goddamn box that has haunted both of them since it was dumped by an indifferent delivery man. And the words of the editor drift into his mind: 'Well. That's a problem, then.'

In her hand is one of the folders - the purple one. And he knows. He hasn't opened these files in years but he knows which one she is holding, as she tries to look at him and not ask him a billion questions either starting with '_Why Didn't You tell me_?' or just the hideously worse, '_Why_?'

He remembers, despite wanting to forget every second of those terrible days when she was taken from him. And now she knows and now he is full of shame. He could blame himself for committing these things to paper and file, but facts were truth and, back then, no truths went unrecorded. "I'm sorry."

Scully's eyes are filling and she wishes to God she wasn't at the mercy of her emotions these days. "Why should you apologize?" she asks quietly. "It's just .. unexpected, seeing it there in this ... file folder. I was curious - the name ... 'Los Angeles/Fires'. I know it's none of my business –"

He takes a breath because this is painful for him to even think, let alone admit. But he does and, after all of this time, admits, "Scully, when you disappeared - those days were harder for me than when I lost my sister and every day since."

There is a sound from the corner. They both turn their heads. George Hale is waking up from his nap and is wandering towards them.

"It wasn't about …her," Mulder whispers.

"I know that."

"Do you?" This time he looks up at her dead on and prays she isn't just being polite.

"You and I were never a couple then, Mulder, you never owed me any kind of …" _'Loyalty',_ she wants to say. "Explanation."

_Why? I owed you everything else._

" …. I know we didn't see other people but - when other people came into our lives…."

"Like Ed Nurse."

"Jerse," she corrects, wondering if this is a deliberate slip.

"He was about me, wasn't he?"

A corner of their separate but linked histories that they experienced, and they are only just talking about it now.

"Yes. I suppose … if you could become so lost without me, then it stands to reason that I could become so lost _with_ you. Yours' was a hard shadow to live in Mulder." She watches the dog sniff the box in front of her knees then look for something more interesting. "You sought comfort. I'm not angry."

"Then what are you?" he asks.

She knows she has no rights to his world during her disappearance. Mulder's grief was and will always be Mulder's grief. "Sad," she says. "That you went through that. That I went through what I did."

Without quite looking at her, Mulder asks, "Did you sleep with Jerse?"

The million dollar question has finally surfaced.

"No," she tells him. "I planned to. I didn't."

"Why not?"

She's uncomfortable and looks down. "I think you know why, Mulder,"

"Me."

"I told you your shadow was hard to live under. You were the reason for a lot of things I did - and did not do."

"I had my head so far up my ass - I missed too much going on around me, especially where you were concerned."

"You weren't supposed to know, Mulder. I worked hard making sure you didn't see anything I didn't want you to see. "

It's a conversation they should have had during their second year together, especially following a particularly vicious case with a nasty man called Donnie. And how Mulder encouraged told her to talk to him if she wasn't comfortable. She never actually promised that she would and, therefore, never had any promises to break.

"Why would you need to know that after all this time - about Ed Jerse?"

"I guess – I guess I've always wondered."

"Why didn't you just ask?"

"Because I don't think I wanted to know the answer. I'm sorry you had to see these, Scully. You've have been right this entire time, not wanting to go back in time the way I seem to need to. You've moved on and I envy you that, I really do."

"I don't know if I'd call it, 'moving on, Mulder. You have never closed off a part of your life because it's so much easier to forget."

"No. Its crippling to remember. Years later these damn things - " He throws a furious look at the box. "They just don't go away. I thought I wanted them forever. I now know, I want them gone forever but it is too late because you have just been caught in the line of fire I started again."

He gives the box a sharp, deep kick with his foot. The cardboard box splits open and files begin to spill out onto the ground.

George Hale stays where he is and darts his eyes between Mulder and Scully.

Scully get up and carefully leads him away from the helpless cardboard. "Where is this coming from, Mulder**?**" she asks carefully.

He sits down on the broken end of a wheelbarrow and rubs his eyes tensely. "I've been trying to write – about those days,' he admits to her for the first time. "I wanted to write something for William that will tell him about our lives – but I can't. I can't tell him about those days and I can't tell him about his parents _without_ those days."

"That's what you've been working on all this time?"

Mulder nods. That's what he has been working on all of this time. "it was supposed to be about you and I and who we are - were - when I see these files again … they remind me that I still don't know anything anymore. I don't know who … who the hell I am. What I'm supposed to be. Where I'm supposed to be. The only known quantity of my life is that I should be with you." Nods over his shoulder at the dog. "And him."

There is a sound coming from the road. A car is coming up the drive. George Hale's ears rise. He is still not used to strangers coming to the house. They are still a threat to him, even if they pose no threat to the two humans.

Scully leans towards the house for a better look. "Damn. It's Curt. He called before; he's got something he wants to show us."

Mulder's tired, wet eyes roll.

"Be nice, Mulder. Curt's been a good friend to me; certainly to George Hale." She pauses and glances at him sideways. "And you too from what I've heard."

"Which is?"

"That he found you and the dog walking on the highway one night. It was the same night I was …. I stayed overnight at the hospital."

"I asked him not to tell you."

"He didn't. It slipped out when he called. I got the rest out of him. I'm sorry you were so upset…." The words of sympathy drift into silence.

"It was a bad night for everyone." Mulder concludes because he doesn't need this grief crawling back into his fractured soul.

Curt wanders around the corner of the barn door. He sees the looks on their faces, Mulder's especially and wonders if he should ask who has died; or wait to see if either of them want to talk about it. For a horrible second, he wonders if George Hale is all right.

"Guys," he says cautiously.

Scully kisses the top of Mulder's head and whispers, "I love you," into his ear as she walks towards their guest.

"Is this a bad time?" Curt asks. " I could – well, actually, I can't come back later but if you just give me a second-"

"It's fine," Mulder assures him as he gets to his feet, His legs ache from crouching so long. This is the least of his problems, he remembers.

"Okay. Great!" He puts out both arms like a traffic cop. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

"This better be good," Mulder grumbles as he and Scully watch a grown man practically skip out of sight. They hear the car door open and close. They hear low, excitable mumbles.

In a moment Curt returns with a look of joy that you just don't see on a grown man anymore.

He is holding a leash. At the other end of the leash is an overweight, brindle pitbull who can't stop bouncing.

Scully's face widens. "Oh, Curt," she exclaims. "You did it!"

Curt nods and beams. "Meet Gladys."

Mulder repeats this name under his breath while George Hale slinks around the back of his legs for a cautious look of another new thing, that looks like him but doesn't growl at him or simply attack.

"Buddy!" Curt sings. "Come and meet my new girl."

Buddy stays with Uncle Spooky while Scully rushes over to meet the new dog. "Curt, she's beautiful," she gushes and crouches down for a better look. Gladys immediately drops to the ground and onto her back for a belly rub.

"All thanks to you, Dana."

"When did you get her?"

"A few of days ago. A couple of the kids and I went to the shelter. The woman there remembered you when I said you'd got a dog there. I told her all about Georgie and how well you guys had done with him – she started to cry. Anyway, we talked and next thing you know, Gladys was ours. She likes cats, great with kids, throws up in cars but we're working on that."

"I'll bet." Scully shifts and looks behind her. "George Hale, come and meet Gladys. It's okay, sweetie."

Curt bends down and holds out his hand while Scully and Gladys continue the love-a-thon. In a gentle voice, he calls his Georgie over.

The dog looks up at Mulder as if he's waiting for the all clear. And Mulder nods towards Gladys. "Let's go say hi, buddy."

George Hale skirts around Scully and Gladys and lands at Curt's knees. The moment Curt has him in one of their bear hugs, the worst is over. "You got a new friend, Georgie. And when your mom and dad go away on holiday, you can stay with us."

Scully is still playing with Gladys. If she heard the remark, she doesn't flinch. Its only when she finally stands up and turns to Mulder, that he realizes she did hear it. She has a smile of resignation on her face; she is George Hale's mother to someone and that is fine.

Gladys realizes her new human friend is gone and finally sees George Hale for the dog he is. In a moment, after the sniffing has begun and ended, Gladys begins bouncing and George Hale follows.

"Let's take them into the run," Mulder says and in a moment, the three adults are watching the two dogs play as if they are a couple of preschoolers.

"I'm a little worried that George Hale will think he's being replaced." Curt's eyes find Mulders' then Scully's. "But he's always my Georgie."

"He knows, Curt. So do we."

And this is what Curt has worried about the most. The weight is off. He is grinning again. "We're starting her on dog-training classes this weekend."

Mulder would like to pipe in that he and Scully trained George Hale by themselves. No help. Just by their wits. And Scully's book. He is a little competitive with Curt; or maybe he jealous that his dog has been replaced in someone else's heart. No, that's not it; Curt is genuine on this matter. He may squeal about finding lost, freezing men on the highway but where George Hale is concerned, he is the real thing.

"I'm going to loan you the book Mulder and I used," Scully says. Before Mulder can beg her not to leave him alone with Curt, she has disappeared back into the house.

"So," Curt says. "Dana says you made this run yourself."

"Yes. Took an afternoon."

"Hey, I wondered where that fence went. I passed that thing enough over the years. Always wondered when that last hinge would drop off." Curt knocks on the post. "What kind of wood did you use?"

_Uh, the wooden kind_. "I forget the name." He never knew the name.

More silence "You coming to Dana's party tomorrow?"

"So I've been told."

More uncomfortable silence. Curt can't take it anymore. "I'm sorry, it was an accident.. I forgot she didn't know that I drove you home that night."

"It doesn't matter. Looking back, I'm glad you were there. And it probably wasn't fair of me to ask you to keep that from her."

Curt breaths again. "Okay. Good. It's been on my mind."

"No kidding."

Curt misses the sarcasm. "You ready for the move?"

He doesn't get an answer. Mulder's eyes are far away.

"I know this is probably none of my business." Curt's kiss-of-death opening. He has been told many times that many things are none of his business but this never seems to stop him. "Is everything okay? When I got here, you both looked really …upset."

Mulder would dearly love to be left alone right now but he knows that isn't going to happen. "Just a few ghosts slipping back to visit."

"Oh, _Those._ Well, if you think those are painful, wait until the party tomorrow."

And more silence. It isn't until Gladys tries mounting George Hale that Mulder nudges Curt and asks, "Uh, your girl's fixed, right?"

Curt looks pensive. "God, I hope so."

* * *

Tonight is their second last night in this house together. They spend most of it in the living room, remarkably calm and caught up in their own activities. The only light glows from the lamp on the table behind Mulder's head. He is stretched out on the couch, reading the latest Science Daily. He looks up from the diagram of a prototype for the first Pan-STARRS telescope, PS1, in Maui that went online on December 6, 2008 and watches Scully at the table, finishing a report on the laptop. He loves listening to her type. She has a gentle tap-tap-tap patter on the keyboard and it's almost hypnotic.

The family dog, as Mulder now refers to him, is asleep by her feet and exhausted from his big day.

George Hale reminded Mulder of himself this afternoon when he came out from behind Mulder's legs; how it took another dog to pull him out of the shadows where it was so safe and so easy to hide. Perhaps where there are Curts and Gladys in the world, people like Mulder and George Hale chance of slipping back into society without too much collateral damage.

_Welcome to the world of powerful women, big guy_, Mulder ponders kindly. _It doesn't get any easier but it's worth every second._

"What are you smiling at?"

Scully is watching him with interest.

"George Hale. What are you working on?"

"Final report for the cuts committee."

"Booorring…"

Scully nods in agreement. Very boring. "You know something, Mulder, I don't know why but there was something about seeing George Hale playing with Gladys that made a lot of this –" she points to the computer and then waves her hand at the rest of the world – "not seem so …..daunting."

"Why Scully, that was almost … poetic."

She will give him that one. For one of these rare moments in her life, she is feeling almost … poetic.

Mulder lays Science Daily across his chest. "Did Curt's dog seem a little …over friendly?"

"Kind of like Curt you mean? And before you start, no, I don't know 'what the hell kind of a name Gladys is' ."

He turns the page. "So how long do we have to stay at this party tomorrow."

"We can leave by six-thirty, seven at the latest."

"I don't want to spend our last night here in a hospital party."

He'd like to mark the last one with a special occasion. Candle light dinner on their crappy wooden table. Ceremonial burning of the paintings that came with the house which they were both too uninterested in to hate. Leaving George Hale outside so they can have sex on the couch like the good old days. If Mulder can survive Scully's party, she can survive a night of his pampering and panting.

* * *

END OF CHAPTER 16


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

The after-work Farewell-to-Another-One-of-Us Party is the same as any other office party in the world . There are the usual number of people who fly in from their shifts, say goodbye to the departee, grab a handful of brownies and dart back to their jobs. There are the pleasant drunks who have just finished a 12 hour shift and wouldn't think of unwinding without a little celebration. And there are the Perpetually Uncomfortable at any social event with five or more people in the room. There are the ones who have a beef with the guest of honour.

And then there are The Obligated; the spouses and relatives who - despite trying every possible argument and lie - cannot get out of coming to the event.

Today, that lucky winner is Mulder. He passes all the criteria for The Obligated and also qualifies as the Perpetually Uncomfortable.

He has been here for forty-five minutes and has left to find the bathroom five times. He doesn't need to use the toilets, he just needs to get the hell out of here. He didn't know what he was doing thinking he could handle this kind of crowd again. This is the most people he has been with at one time since the last FBI conference he went to. Crowds were not even an issue in those days. Now, he can't believe he hates them so much.

"Curt, where's Mulder?"

Scully has pulled Curt away from an argument with Watson about what car has the better mileage in winter.

"One sec, Dave." Drink in hand, Curt bends towards Scully so that he can hear her over the noise. "What?"

"Mulder – have you seen him?"

Curt stands up and glances around the room. Being tall, looking for the tall, has its privileges. "Nope"

"Try the can," Dave pipes in.

Yes, Scully thinks, she will crash the men's room, that will leave a lasting impression.

"Yeah, I think I've seen him head there a few times." Curt must be on a role with the argument, because he has turned back to Dave and resumes the point he was making

The corridor that leads to the Doctors-Only Men's room is unusually quiet. Scully gently opens the outside door to the bathroom and calls, "Mulder?"

There is the sound of a tap running. The door flies open from inside She jumps back. Mulder emerges, drying his hands on his pants. He tries to look normal, something he doesn't think he has mastered very well in years.

"Scully."

"Mulder."

He tilts his head and asks curiously, "Did you want the tour?"

"The tour?" She glances over his shoulder and realizes what he's talking about. "No, I've seen my share, thank you."

"Oh, do tell."

"Are you all right? Someone said they saw you here a few times."

"Just freshening up."

"Sure you are." She carefully guides him by the elbow to a row of chairs under the stair case. "Sit." They wait there silently. She knows he is probably okay because he slips down in the chair with his legs out as if he is waiting for nothing.

He slowly takes her fingers into his one by one. "It was getting a little crowded in there."

"And this is a _small _party. Seriously, Mulder, what's going on?"

"I was getting a little ... overwhelmed. I'm fine, Scully. I haven't been in a room that full of people in years. At least there weren't any flipcharts growing out of the walls."

"Oh, those conferences they made us go to." Scully smiles. "Or tried to make us go to."

"Exactly. But in the bathroom, I was thinking..." He pauses and tries to get the right words, even though he knows he doesn't have to. She will understand him regardless of what which he uses. "None of those people know who I am except for your pretend boy friend. They have no idea who I used to be. To them I'm just some Joe-Schmo who shacks up with the Doctor Lady. I'm not Spooky Mulder, I'm not the Freak in the Basement or Mr. Conspiracy or - "

"Wait - does that make me Mrs. Freak in the Basement?"

"Not any more. That … baggage – it's all gone, disappeared and what's left is me and you and a room full of _them_. I don't…. I've never sensed that before."

"Nothing like a crowd to provide a bit of healthy anonymity."

"Agreed." He flips his watch upwards. "Can we go home now?"

"I can't leave yet. It's too early. For better or worse, I still have a history with these people."

"And a future with me. It's not that I don't want to be here, Scully," he explains. "It's just that I'd rather be at home. Alone. With you."

He doesn't want to spoil his surprise; it took him most of the afternoon to get their house to look its very best for their last night together He drove into town to get her favourite wine, which is now chilling in the fridge. He drove to the other end of town to find the specialty shop that had her favourite chocolate.

On the way home, he passed the animal shelter. He tried to imagine Scully going in that day, her sure footing, the look on her face that dared anyone to get in her way. And coming out with George Hale attached to her, and never ever letting go.

He pulled the car over, knowing this was going to make him late. He walked into the noisy shelter and told the lady at the front desk that he was George Hale's father. The woman remembered George and how terrified he was when he was brought in. And, hearing how well he had done with this couple, she began to get weepy, just as she had done with Curt. Mulder dropped two hundred dollar bills on the counter and wished her and the other animals well. These animals may not have a permanent home but at least they live with people who love them, he realized and thought it must cost these people dearly to love these dog so much.

"Let's go find the abandoned Doctor's Lounge and make out."

"Mulder, no," She reluctantly tugs him back in the direction of the lounge. "I really don't want to be known as this month's Make Out Bandit."

"Make-Out Bandit?"

"Apparently, that's what they call people who get caught."

Mulder is intrigued. "I could live with that."

"Mulder, do you really want to get me in that kind of trouble?"

"Might be more fun than staying at that party."

Scully sighs. "I know."

"And dangerous." He leans in and whispers furtively. "Don't you miss the _danger_, Former Agent Scully?"

She smiles. "Not that kind. Come on. Fifteen more minutes. You can call my cell and say there's an emergency with George Hale."

"Whom everyone knows is home, alone and can't use a phone."

"I have a better idea…." She pulls a rolled up twenty-dollar bill from her pocket and jams it into his hand. "Here. Boudreau from diagnostics won it from someone who said I had made you up to keep him from hitting on me. Go to the pub next door. I'll meet you there in a while."

"They_ were_ taking bets? Are we really that interesting or are they just that bored?"

She shrugs and answers as diplomatically as possible, "A little of both, I suppose"

* * *

Scully corners Curt by the fruit bowl and slaps twenty dollar bill (Booth in X-ray) into his hand.

"Why, Dana," he says, moved. "I only got you a ten."

"I need a favour. Mulder's waiting for me in the pub. Keep him company until I can get away?"

His eyes light up. "You're paying me to leave your farewell party?"

"Yes."

"You know there is a sainthood in this for you. Saint D."

She can only roll her eyes. "Oh, I've been hearing that for years."

* * *

"You're kidding, right?" Curt puts his beer down on the counter. It lands with a small splash.

Mulder shakes his head.

"The FBI" Curt spits out. "_The_ F_B_I"

Another nod, maybe even a justified smile. Mulder has had three beers but these are only a small reason for the lovely buzz happening in his head. Watching a curious outsider's reaction is almost worth the years of silence.

"_Both_ of you?" Curt's voice goes up a few octaves. "FBI agents?"

"That's where we met. Almost fifteen years ago."

"You've been together fifteen years?"

Mulder tips the rest of the third beer down his throat and plunks the glass down. "How long did you think we've been together?"

"Way longer than that. High school sweethearts maybe."

Mulder laughs. "I would have been so out of her league, it wouldn't have been funny."

This is an odd comment, Curt thinks, coming from this guy, but he will let it pass. He pauses from his drinking as the details of his encounters with these two come into focus. The way are with each other as if nobody else in the world could exist.

Mulder hiccups and tries to cover by clearing his throat.

Curt doesn't notice. " I knew there was something guys were hiding. Now, it makes sense. You calling each other by your last names. Dana being so elusive about what you did. She says you write for Science Journals."

"I _do_."

"Really?"

Mulder shoots him a blasé , _do I look like I'm kidding_ look.

"And your real name is really Fox Mulder?"

"You think I would make that up?"

"I don't know. Maybe. You called your dog George Spooky Hale, for crissakes." Curt finishes the beer and signals the bartender for another one. He points to Mulder and nods again. "Okay, so tell me everything. How did you end up _here_?"

Mulder will sadly have to omit _How He Ended Up Here_, but the start of his tale is up for grabs. "I joined the bureau after university. Began with the BSU –"

"Thanks," Curt says as two more beers are put before him and Mulder. "BSU? What the hell is …"

"Behavioral Science Unit. Then Violent Crimes. Then I moved onto less …" He pauses. "less …tangible cases. Paranormal. That sort of thing."

"You?"

"You don't know me that well, Curt. They used to call me Spooky. Spooky Mulder."

"_Spooky Mulder_," Curt repeats as if he's been let in on the worlds coolest secret. "What about Dana?"

"Well, sometimes they'd call her Mrs. Spooky, but not to her face."

"No – I meant how did she join the FBI?"

"She started out with a B.S. in physics, got her MD from Stanford and was lured to the FBI with dreams of working in to a basement office with a Socially Inept Agent where she used her applied her medical know-how in forensic pathology to finding the truth and gradually turned the Socially Inept Agent into a functioning Human Being."

"Did you carry guns?"

Mulder nods. "Part of our work."

"Dana carried a gun?_ Little_ Dana?"

"You've seen Little Dana in action. Do you think she needed a gun?"

Curt agrees. He's seen her in action. "She gets more done without a gun, than most well equipped bank robbers I know."

"She is – she _was -_ a better shot than me. But I could aim higher."

"And you shot people."

"Only if they shot first."

"So when did you …." Curt tries to find the polite word for two coworkers who probably broke a shit load of rules one night on a whim of curiosity. "…make it personal?"

Two days after William was born; the day Scully brought the baby home and she and Mulder stood in her bedroom, each holding the baby as everything in his life began to make sense; until a fucking phone call changed everything two days later.

"What?" Curt says, waiting. Whatever Mulder just mumbled, it was not audible.

"Nothing. We didn't hook up until I'd left the bureau." The beer finds his lips. "I was asked to leave, actually."

"As in fired?"

"You could put it that way."

"Wow."

The pub is filling up. So far, they are only two at the bar, but when more people start nudging for elbow room, they are going to have to grab a booth. Typical Mulder, he will think about himself later – he is still being careful of what he says and to whom and where he says it.

"So…." Curt says, drawing out that handy word as for as long as he can. "You two worked closely together for – what, eight years?" A few tics and shrugs compete the rest of the question.

"Give or take."

"And all that time, you and her…."

"It's complicated."

"I love complicated."

"Yeah," Mulder says, putting a little more beer away. "I bet you do."

"Well, you have to admit, you two are … interesting."

"I hate that word."

"Why did it take you that long to get together. You both have other significant others?"

If only it were that easy. "No. We were just …. _cautious_."

"For _eight_ years?"

"When you're in the kind of situations our job dictated …. There were just certain protocols you had to maintain." Mulder-talk for _neither of us were ready to face ourselves and each other yet_. "I knew there wouldn't be any other people. I knew she was the only one I wanted to be with. The same for her. We just didn't verbalize it."

Curt puts away another slug of beer. "Weird."

Mulder thinks back to _those days_. They had each other. They didn't need to say so. And too scared as shit to risk that by taking the baby steps they would have needed.

"I did kiss her once."

Curt leans in. "And …"

"We were watching the ball drop on New Year's eve on TV - we'd just finished up a hard case – people were celebrating, Dick Clark was dizzy with joy. I just looked down at her and thought, 'Why not' And I leaned in and kissed her. It was …. right. But we knew it wasn't time… I think I told her I loved her once, but I'd had a head injury from a boating accident, so I'm not really sure what I said."

Curt's head is shaking in amazement.

"Everyone at the bureau thought we were sleeping together." Mulder chuckles. "A lot people lost a lot of money on a lot of bets."

"Christ, I would have had to foreclose," Curt groans. "So you guys were just friends - that whole time?"

"Yup. I was on a case and was asked casually if I had a significant other. My first reaction was 'how did you know?' It hadn't occurred to me until then that I'd had thought of her as my significant other for years. We did the usual things couples did without actually being a couple. I showed her how to play baseball, we took road trips; sat by each other's bedsides when one of us was injured or inflicted with terminal diseases; stayed up with each other during the losses of various family members and family members who would never be; went camping and were almost eviscerated by bugs, then on another trip by giant fungal spores; took a weekend trip to the lake and got her dog killed; got abducted by various alien organizations…"

Curt is deciding if any or just some of this is true. He won't come to any solid conclusions for years to come.

"Okay, " he says. "What about other family? Brothers? Sisters?"

Ordinary personal questions, requiring details that most people offer without a beat. Family background, origin of birth, siblings who were taken from your house by forces you will never understand, even though you spent most of your life following and believing and never losing sight of.

"Uh…. Sister."

"Older? Younger?"

"Younger. She – she died when - a long time ago."

"Me too. Well, mine was older. Cancer."

Silence. Curt is more comfortable with this than Mulder. "You never get over that, do you," Curt says too quietly.

"No," Mulder says "You don't."

Curt raises his glass. "To our sisters."

"To our sisters," Mulder agrees and wonders if this ever gets easier.

* * *

Scully, all timing as usual, throws her purse on the bar and watches the two men jump. " Sorry, I thought I could get away sooner." She hops on to the stool next to Mulder and sees Curt beaming at her.

"What?"

"Nothing….. _Special Agent_ Scully."

Scully's head snaps towards Mulder. "_What_ is he talking about?"

Curt leans over and gives her a conspiratorial punch on arm.

Her eyes seer into the side of Mulder's head. "_Mulder_?"

"Oh, hey, Scully."

"I thought we had agreed a long time ago, for obvious reasons that we wouldn't disclose that kind of information."

"I didn't think it could do any harm."

"You didn't think it could do any harm?"

"It's been a while, Scully," he dares to say in the kind of voice that you would use to tell someone to chill out.

"And that's your call? Past, present or future - it is still a decision _we_ need to talk about. If we -" The smile on his face finally makes sense. "Are you drunk?"

"No." He glances at his watch. "Not yet. Oh, by the way…" He fishes his car keys out of his coat pocket and tosses them into the air towards her. "You're driving."

Scully catches them with her right hand and a look of anger. "Mulder, you were supposed to be the designated driver and I was supposed to be able to have a few drinks before going home."

"I can drive," Curt pipes in.

Scully leans over for a sniff and backs off. "Not likely."

"Sorry, Scully," Mulder drones. "I know this is your last day and you deserve to have a few. Curt isn't going to tell anyone about what I told him. Which wasn't even that much if you ask me."

Curt reaches over and grabs her hand. "Dana, don't get angry. He just told me a few FBI stories. Some of the bad guys you caught. That's all."

She looks between both men and wonders who is shoveling the biggest load.

Then, she catches the aroma of a glass of red wine that a waiter is taking to a customer. It's the smell she has been dreaming about all day because she knew at the end of this day, there was a glass of her favourite wine – a few actually - a Mulder and a final night in that house.

"Mulder, do you have any more surprises for me? Besides telling someone something you shouldn't have, and becoming drunk on _my_ last day of work."

Mulder catches Curt's eye as if to check if this is a trick question or not.

Scully picks up her coat and heads towards the door. "If either of you have to use the bathroom, make it quick."

"She's _pissed_," Curt gulps.

"Disappointed," Mulder corrects. "I'm an asshole." Mulder finishes the rest of his beer and digs through his pockets for cash. He slaps two twenties on the counter. "You know, she once shot me in the shoulder?"

Curt follows Mulder through the crowd towards the front door. "No, but if you hum a few bars ..."

"Haha," Mulder says over his shoulder.

"Well, why did she shoot you?"

"Because of lame jokes like that."

* * *

It is a silent ride home. Curt sits in the back seat. He claimed that he could probably drive but Scully's future plans include taking no chances that will result in having to spend a second longer in this town for any reason, including Curt's funeral, so she is driving him home. She plans to stop at home so George Hale can go outside;then, she will deliver Curt to his front door. By then Mulder may have sobered up and he can tell her when it was he decided to give their secrets away. She doesn't know why this angers her so much but it does. Maybe it has to do with the Change Of Life they are about to embark on. Moving homes and beginning new jobs – two of the highest stresses. Given the rest of the items on the list, it could be worse.

The only sound comes from the four tires, moving over the snow covered roads at an easy, repetitive pace. From the back seat, Curt asks a few questions about the car and its mileage and repair history but otherwise, he is unusually silent. He keeps the news of his twirling stomach to himself.

Scully is thinking of the best way to ask Mulder what the hell he thought he was doing, and different ways to send the message that she is truly, royally pissed.

"What the hell are we doing, Scully?"

She sighs tiredly. "We're driving home, what the hell do you think we're doing?"

"No, not that." Mulder waves his arms in the air and finally points one of them at the window. "There – out there. Why are we doing this? Going back out there?"

He digs his knuckle into his right eyebrow; Scully knows instantly that this isn't the beer talking.

"Mulder?"

He sits up and tries to pull his thoughts together. "I'm not drunk, Scully. I'm as sober as a … I'm just …." He shakes his head. "I don't know, maybe I am drunk but … what if we're making a huge mistake? What if we don't fit in?"

Even Curt is paying attention.

For some reason, hearing him say these words aloud is reassuring. Scully is not the only one who has been thinking this. "We're not social pariahs, Mulder. We're people who have a history with this city, with the FBI. Nobody defines us but us. Remember?" She stretches her arm to the back of his neck and leaves her hand there for a second, maybe two. Enough to bring him back from the dark where his mind wandered way too far away again.

Curt watches them as if they we are a science experiment in its final stages. The pieces he's been given one by one over the past year now come into view as the whole of who these two are together.

No, he wouldn't have stood a chance in the bureau betting pools.

* * *

Curt is the first out of the car. He bounces up the front steps. "I hate to impose but I _reeeaaaally_ I need to use your facilities."

Scully tosses a set of keys over the car. Curt catches them and in a moment the front door is open and they can hear Curt and George Hale greet each other as their voices trail away in the direction of the bathroom.

"I hope he's not sick," Mulder moans. His legs feel like jelly by the time he steps onto firm, cold ground.

Scully keeps an eye on him to make sure he is mobile. She should be the one teetering out of the car, fresh from a celebratory round of drinks, ready to have a celebratory last evening in this house she detests with the man she loves.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," she remarks and wanders into the house.

She is upset. Mulder shouldn't have told Curt anything about them. Mulder is anxious about the move, the job, she knows this - tonight was the first time she has heard him say so – but dropping this little bomb on her before they have even left does not help her growing doubt.

She calls George Hale's name – twice – to tear himself away from the bathroom door. Curt is Mulder's problem now.

And then she notices the living room. Only one lamp is on - the one by the corner that throws a wave of soft light over the room. There are roses on the table. Two wine glasses. She guesses that there will be a bottle of her favourite wine chilling in the fridge. He has done all of this for her.

And this only infuriates her more.

She can hear Mulder say her name but she ignores him as the dog follows her out the front door and down the steps.

The moon is bright and quick tonight and she won't need a flashlight to find any gifts from the dog she might step on. George Hale does his usual pre-pee stroll. He's almost giddy tonight.

"Scully."

Damnit.

Mulder is behind her. She sees his hand reach out to take her arm, but he pulls back. He knows when she is beyond touching.

"I didn't think." He tries to walk alongside her. She is so tired; tired of him, tired of what he has just told Curt, as if it is nothing; as if they kept their secrets for no reason at all. As if he shared something that he had only shared with her.

"I'm sorry, Scully, I just – it just hit me in the bar – maybe it was the beer, I can't be sure – but it just hit me that it seemed silly not to tell someone about our past life. I'd never tell anybody about the last two years. And it's okay now. We're okay now."

She whirls around. "When did _that_ happen? When did we become _'okay_?' Like _normal people_? When, Mulder, I'd really like to know."

He steps back, surprised by her outburst. "I don't know. I don't think we are like normal people. At least I hope not – Hey, Scully?"

She is crying quietly and she doesn`t know why. Maybe it's because he has a kinder view of them than she does these days.

George Hale returns and drops a stick at her feet. He does his usual crouch-tail wagging dance. Now she is smiling. And crying.

Mulder leans down and picks up the stick. "Worlds smartest dog," he says and hurls the stick deep into the dark woods. He turns back to her. "You okay?"

She leans into his shoulder and both his arms go so tightly around her. He has been like this more lately. They have both become more protective of each other, if that is even possible.

"Maybe it's time to let go of some of the secrecy. I mean, in DC are we going to keep it a big secret that we spent a year in _this_ place?"

This gets a smile out of her. "God, yes."

"Besides, we have bigger problems to worry about.``

"What?"

"I think the fan in our bathroom is busted."

"Shit."

Mulder shakes his head sadly. "That's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

Mulder is beyond exhausted, but at least he is sobering up. Curt is lying on the couch. George Hale bounces into the house and lands on his legs. Scully hands Curt the phone and tells him to call his wife. She is too tired to drive the twenty minutes there and twenty back that it will take.

George Hale will have the sleepover he has always wanted.

And Mulder and she will have the bedroom to themselves.

Curt is gone by eight-thirty the next morning. He is embarrassed to wake up on their couch. When his wife comes to pick him up, he tries to keep his dignity and his stomach intact. He shakes Mulder's hand and thanks him for the hospitality and the company last night and, with a slight wink, promises to keep things on the QT. Scully is a tougher goodbye. He hugs her tightly and thanks her for being a good friend at work and for bringing George Hale into his life. She invites him to visit any time. He wonders if this is courtesy thing to say or if she really means it. He hopes she means it.

But George Hale, he is the hardest good-bye. George Hale has spent most of the night sleeping on Curt's legs, as if he knew a goodbye was coming.

And then Curt is gone from their lives.

One friend down, one home to go.

At ten thirty, Mulder is the next to leave. He has loaded the pickup with spare things he wants to hang onto a little longer. He is the keeper of this family; the hoarder of things and memories unseen to the naked eye.

He gives a look back at the house as he pulls onto the road. With a wave to Scully, he drives out of sight.

They will meet up at the new house in a few hours. She will stop off at Skinner's where her mother has made food to last her and Mulder for a day or so until they do a grocery run.

Maggie Scully wants her daughter to see her life now; the temporary home she shares with Walter Skinner until her own home is ready. This is her life and she is proud of it.

Scully locks the door and looks down at the dog "You ready?"

He is sleeping on the top stair, stirring in his sleep. Her voice wakes him and his sleepy eyes begin to open.

"No, oh, don't rush for my behalf." She drops the key into her pocket.

Curt has promised to keep an eye on the house until they decide if they are going to sell it or turn it into Mulder's personal vacation oasis. Scully would still like to sell, but she is beginning to understand why Mulder needs to hang onto some of their past year. And George Hale will still need a place to run. They have spent so much of the last year together, she is surprised she wants to keep him close to home. Maybe it is just them, she wants to keep close.

"Let's go," she calls as she opens the front door to her car.

In a moment, the dog has hopped into the car and onto the back seat.

Scully drives down the gravel road and when she gets to the main road, she stops the car and walks around to where the fence used to be. One of the posts has fallen and she leans over and pulls it up, as if she wants it to be ready for the next fence it secures. One fast jiggle confirms that it is tight and secure and standing proud.

And then she climbs back into the car and drives herself and George Hale home.

The End


End file.
